


Evolution of an Unlikely Romance

by ShipMaester



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 31,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipMaester/pseuds/ShipMaester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very off-canon and alternate universe where a war-weary Stannis Baratheon finally sits the Iron Throne.  His wife has died of a fever and, at the beginning of the story, Shireen is recovering from the same fever at Winterfell.  The story starts with a series of ravens between Sansa and Stannis.   George R.R. Martin owns all and I profit nothing; I just borrow his toys from time to time for my own amusement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Winterfell  
Sansa  


Maester Birch found Sansa in the kitchens where the women of Winterfell had taken to working together in the latter part of the day to see to the arduous task of having sufficient for supper for the regular inhabitants of Winterfell, as well as their guests and the garrison of King Stannis’ men. Shortly after she had been found at the Vale by Lord Seaworth, then Ser Davos, and returned to her home, Sansa realized that in order to survive war and winter, the luxuries of there being labors that the privileged were precluded from participating in could scarcely be afforded. Among those who regularly joined her in the kitchens to assist in plucking chickens, stirring broths, and kneading dough for bread were Osha, Asha Greyjoy, and Jeyne Poole. They were also joined by Princess Shireen Baratheon, although she was too weak to help do more than stir for a short time. Sansa made her feel useful and enjoyed her quiet presence.

The Princess had arrived several moon-cycles prior to this, accompanied by ten more of the King’s men that had been with her at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and an equal number sent by her half-brother, Jon Snow. The original reason for the transport was to save her from the fever that had taken her mother. However, they didn’t realize the Princess was already ill when they started the journey and she had barely been alive by the time they arrived. It had taken a constant vigil of nursing and following the new maester’s instructions to get her thus far. It was no surprise to find that raven Maester Birch carried the wax seal of the Iron Throne.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Sansa stepped aside while the others pretended to keep working and not watch her with curiosity. The raven from King Stannis read:

> Lady Lannister
> 
> Word from your brother, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, has reached me of the death of my wife and that my daughter was removed to Winterfell and placed in your care. My gratitude is immense and I regret that the remnants of winter and the Princess’ health will require her to intrude on your hospitality for yet a while longer. Please be assured that while I cannot fully recompense you and Lord Stark for your efforts on her behalf, I shall attempt some measure of it when possible. For now, I would ask that you read what follows to my daughter. I am now in King’s Landing and sit the Iron Throne and all other contenders have made peace, with the exception of the Targaryen girl, who has returned from whence she came. My Hand has joined me and we are now reconciled to the task of rebuilding the realm. The raven that sent this message is trained to go back and forth between Winterfell and King’s Landing only and I would ask that you keep me apprised of the Princess’ condition as often as you will.
> 
> Stannis Baratheon

Sansa found a sense of peace wash over her. Most of the fighting between King Stannis and the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen, had taken place in the South. Rumors about the death of one of the dragons at the hands of the King’s archers and it causing another of the dragons to become uncontrollable and burn over half of her army of the unsullied had only recently reached Winterfell. The fear now was that Daenerys Tagaryen had only fled to return with yet another army. Most in Westeros cared little for who won as each claimant of the throne either fell away or gave up; they just wanted the war to be over. Sansa owed both her return and the return of her younger brother to Winterfell to King Stannis’ Hand and the rebuilding of Wintefell to his men. She had become the King’s most ardent supporter.

“Shireen, this is from our King, your father. Would you like to read it to you now?”

“Please!” the young Princess’ voice was weak, but the eagerness came through. Sansa came closer and knelt beside her chair and read the rest of the raven.

> Daughter
> 
> Duty has always been my guiding force and yet I did not consider the toll it would bring to you. I would say that I regret that I was not there to help you grieve for the loss of your mother, although we both know I am not one anyone would want for such a task. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch has told me that you are doing well under the care of Lady Lannister and that she and Lord Stark have made you part of their family. For this, I am grateful and yet I would ask you to remember your father. Show the same strength that pulled you through illness before and prepare to join me in King’s Landing when the harshness of winter begins to subside. Lord and Lady Seaworth send their regard. I look forward to hearing from you when you are able to correspond.
> 
> Father  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

King’s Landing  
Stannis

The reply from Winterfell had been swift and Davos brought it to him at once. There was no wax seal, but Stannis noticed the feminine flourish of the handwriting on the first rolled page as he put on his spectacles.

  


> Your Grace
> 
> Thank you for your raven and the assurance of correspondence between here and King’s Landing so that you may write to Princess Shireen. There has been no tonic put forth by our learned maester that has done as much to improve her health as has your raven.
> 
> As for recompense, please think no more of it. It is we who owe you for freeing Winterfell from the Boltons and helping us rebuild, just as we owe your Lord Hand for returning both my brother and me to our home. I have gained a beloved friend in the Princess, and she will always be welcome at Winterfell, as will you, Your Grace.
> 
> I sign this as Lady Sansa Stark. It has been proven that there was no marriage between Lord Tyrion and myself. However, he was kind to me and I do wish him well.
> 
> Lady Sansa

  


“Did you read this?” he asked Davos, who stood slightly behind him while he read the raven.

“Only enough to know it was from Lady Sansa of Winterfell.”

“She writes that Shireen is improving,” Stannis remarked, trying not to let his relief show. His guilt for leaving her in the cold and that she endured watching the death of her mother was palpable. He had watched his own parents’ death and while it had been quick, he realized Shireen would have watched her mother waste away for weeks before seeing an end. He turned his thoughts to other matters. “The Stark girl claims it has been proven she was not married to Tyrion Lannister. A septon would have had to find her a maid to make such a claim to her king. One wonders how she managed such a feat if she truly was at the mercy of both Tyrion Lannister and Petyr Baelish.”

Davos raised an eyebrow in that way he often did when being thoughtful. “Lord Tyrion would have seen the value of having her as an ally, and a wife raped would hardly be that. As for Baelish, I can only assume he would see manipulating her into his bed as a game to be played over time, which he thought he had an abudance of before he was found by Jaime Lannister when he foolishly traveled to Riverrun. The fact that Baelish did not win speaks well of Lady Sansa. I must also begrudgingly admit that the Kingslayer beheading Baelish was a piece of work I thank him for.”

“Indeed,” Stannis conceded, both to the appreciation to the Kingslayer and that Lady Stark was to be admired for what she had managed to endure. Davos had already told him of her beauty and poise, which he could well imagine as the daughter of Catelyn Stark, but he also told another story she asked Davos to tell. It was one he recognized all too well; one of a person feeling guilt. Guilt over leaving Selyse and Shireen in the North was not the only guilt that weighed him down these days now that the quest for the Iron Throne was over, at least for now. Guilt that he could not win this war quickly and it had cost the people of the realm so dearly, including those closest to him as he remembered the price Davos paid in the loss of five sons. Guilt that he had not been a better father, and even a better husband. Guilt that he had allowed himself to be manipulated and seduced by the power Melisandre offered. He even felt guilt where Lady Sansa’s father was concerned, although that was one of the few areas where he had made some attempt at amends. Most of all, he felt guilt over what he allowed to happen to Renly. Guilt weighed on him, but it did not keep him from doing his duty. However, the story Davos told from Sansa Stark was of a child made a pawn in the game for power; the game for the Iron Throne. Her crimes were ones of innocence and trust, tinged with ignorance and the selfishness that oft come with that age. He could not make those excuses for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Winterfell  
Sansa

The second raven from the King arrived a little over a sennight from sending her reply to his first raven. This one had separate ravens rolled together, one for her and one for the Princess. Sansa was in the newly built solar with the Princess doing the mending when the maester found them this time to deliver the latest missives.

  


> Lady Sansa
> 
> I apologize for my error of address. It is good to know someone treated you kindly in King’s Landing for what I have heard of your time here dismays me. I have always found this place to be a den of vipers. I hope you will visit and find it changed, yet I fear that affecting the change I would most wish to see is beyond my power or influence.
> 
> It is with gladness that I learn you regard my daughter as a friend. She has not had a great deal of nurturing female influence in her young life and I am sure her time with you will be good for her. The ravens received from you both were appreciated and it is my wish, not command, that you will continue to write. The Princess will put a brave face on all and I would appreciate your time in keeping me abreast of the truth of her condition and situation.
> 
> My Lady, wisdom sometimes comes with age and experience. My Hand has told me that which you asked of him. This included your feelings of guilt over the trust you placed in Queen Cercei. You were a child and were manipulated by one who could not be bested at cold calculation and deviousness. You were a victim of those who made manipulation their chief art. I will share with you one of the many things I look back on with regret and wish I could change, but cannot. For quite a long time I termed your lord father my enemy merely for having my brother’s affections when I did not. For a time, I told myself this was a deliberate effort on his part against me. You lost your lord father in his effort to protect my right as king and you suffered for it as well. And yet, you are kind enough to care of my daughter. I remain in your debt.
> 
> In closing, I would ask of your provisions at Winterfell. It is my understanding from my Hand that you are providing for the wildlings at The Gift as well as all those at Winterfell. We now have trade agreements with several of the free cities that should improve stores depleted by war and winter. Please let me know of your needs.
> 
> Stannis Baratheon

Sansa wiped the stray tears from her eyes before they could be seen by the Princess, who was thankfully occupied in reading her own raven from her father. Stories told about King Stannis had often confused her. She would hear reports that made him appear mostly cold and unfeeling, yet his men, the Hand, and his daughter were devoted to him even when they often confirmed the reports of his demeanor. While they certainly could not be compared on all accounts, she could not help but compare the King to her memories of Sandor Clegane. A man considered cold and who could say the most unfeeling and blunt things, yet to her, the one person she knew at King’s Landing would never hurt her and in whom she could trust. It occurred to her that perhaps she placed blind trust in the King merely because of that comparison.

Shireen broke into her thoughts, “My father seems much changed from his ravens.”

“Do you consider this change welcomed?” Sansa asked, more interested than she felt she should be.

Appearing pale and tired by the exertion of sitting up for more than a few hours, Shireen looked at her with wide eyes. “Perhaps it is that I am not used to him addressing me as other than a child. Yet I find him less . . . sure of himself as he once was.”

“In his raven to me, he spoke to me of gaining wisdom with age. I know that the cost of wisdom is regret at the actions you took when you were less wise. Still, I find the raven I received to be written by a man of strength and purpose.”

“Yes,” Shireen agreed with a wan smile. “My father has always had a purpose.”


	4. Chapter 4

King’s Landing  
Stannis

After putting down the raven from Shireen, Stannis picked up the one from Lady Stark and read.

> Your Grace
> 
> The Princess was able to join us in harvesting vegetables from the Glass Gardens this afternoon. It took great effort to stop her from tiring herself completely, yet it was good for her to be able to do thus much and her color has improved from being outdoors on a day that was warmer than most we have had of late. I do believe Spring is upon us. To our delight, the Princess grows stronger each day, although I also know that this brings her closer to leaving us and I admit I do not look forward to the day you send for her.
> 
> Your Grace, you are very kind to ask about our provisions. We have entered a cooperative arrangement with those from The Gift and have managed to have sufficient for both parties. They are providing meat through their hunting skills and all of the houses in the North, with the exception of Dreadfort, were successful in setting up glass gardens and are able to share our provisions with them. My lord brother is well thought of by those at The Gift and, as he grows into his role as Lord Stark, he considers them part of The North while understanding their desire to live differently than we do.
> 
> I have had a raven from my cousin, Lord Arryn, that provisions are scarce at the Vale. I have sent what we can in aid. Perhaps you would consider diverting the additional provisions you thought possible for the North there?
> 
> I will close by saying that I am thankful your opinion has changed regarding my late lord father. While I cannot know for sure as I was young and not privy to his confidence in such things, I do believe that while King Robert had his affection as a friend, you had his respect. I cannot imagine otherwise.
> 
> Lady Sansa

It was an admirable communication and he could not help but compare it to what he would have received from Selyse. A raven from her would have been full of her suffering at even having to look at a vegetable other than at supper and he could never imagine her telling him she had sufficient of anything. While Shireen had never been one to complain or to take on the manner of her mother, he could see the influence of Lady Sansa in her raven. She talked to him about the state of his men still at Winterfell and of the activities at Winterfell, while speaking nothing of her illness except to say that she looked forward to being more helpful and how grateful she was for the care she was receiving. Easy expressions of gratitude were not something she learned from either Selyse or him.


	5. Chapter 5

Winterfell  
Sansa

Four moon-cycles went by and a raven was received almost every sennight from the King, one to her and one to his daughter. Other ravens came that were addressed to Ser Justin Massey and even one or two to her brother, Rickon, to show him the respect due to even a young Lord of Winterfell. Over time, Sansa found herself feeling encouraged to ask his advice and to even offer hers when he wrote her regarding his frustration at one of the ladies at court who was very demanding and critical of what she felt was his lack of accommodation to those of rank in King’s Landing.

Meanwhile, other ravens made their way to Winterfell. The most recent was a bit of a surprise - an offer of marriage from Prince Quentyn Martell. It was not the first offer of marriage she had received since she had returned to Winterfell. The first one arrived before she was officially declared free to marry by the septon. Rickon had protested her subjecting herself to such a thing until she told him it paled in comparison to the things she had endured in King’s Landing. After being stripped in front of Joffrey and his King’s Guard, a kindly old septon who really let a septa do the inspection while he covered his eyes was nothing at all.

As was her duty, she had talked over the various proposals with her brother, who was too overwhelmed by adjusting to the life he was born to lead rather than the one he had been living with the wildlings. At first, Rickon fought his fate and she did not insist. Sansa merely did all she could to be the Stark of Winterfell until he was ready to assume the role. It seemed as simple as one day he changed his mind. His education was still an ongoing endeavor, but fortunately for her, Rickon was in no hurry for her to leave so that it was all on his shoulders. Of course, that she had a habit of bringing up that he would need to marry and provide a Lady Stark and heirs when she left Winterfell ensured Rickon was in no mood to talk about her offers.

In truth, Sansa was becoming restless. She was happy at Winterfell; the constant hum of necessary activity kept her occupied and feeling a sense of purpose. But someday Rickon would want to marry and she would have to make way for the new Lady Stark. Among her other offers were an offer made on his own by Harrold Hardyng; one had also come from the young Umber left at Last Hearth. Sansa was now almost nine and ten, and despite what she had suffered, she wanted a home of her own and children. Whom she had for a husband was the scary part. Did she trust herself to know a worthy man? She had once thought she wanted Joffrey. For all that, none of the offers that came her way appealed to her or even piqued her interest, including this latest from a prince of Dorne.

It was only two days after the arrival of Prince Quentyn’s offer that another raven arrived. It was the shortest missive from King Stannis to date.

> Lady Sansa
> 
> I have learned of your receipt of an offer of marriage from Prince Quentyn. As your king, I would ask you to convey your intentions to me first before answering the prince’s suit. I am sure you are still much needed at Winterfell.
> 
> Stannis Baratheon


	6. Chapter 6

King’s Landing  
Stannis

Stannis read Lady Sansa’s raven before his daughter’s. Her reply to his insistence that she consult him before accepting Prince Quentyn Martell had taken more than a fortnight to arrive. He read this particular raven twice, embarrassed at how relieved he was of its contents.

  


> Your Grace
> 
> I am needed less and less at Winterfell as my brother grows in his maturity and capabilities. The only answer I have given Prince Quentyn is that I am honored by his offer and will take the matter up with my lord brother and with my King. I had not approached you with the offer for my brother left the decision in my hands and I was not ready to consider it. Nor had I time to do so properly before your raven arrived. Before sending you this reply, I have taken the time to know my mind on the matter. I know little of Prince Quentyn beyond his station in life and know of nothing to suggest he is anything other than an honorable young man. I am aware I must marry someday, if only to allow my lord brother to do the same in a few years’ time, yet I do not see myself in Dorne. Please know, Your Grace, that I am not seeking some ideal situation that would be impossible to find. I strongly suspect the offer I eventually wish to accept would find me in a place far less pleasant than what I have heard exists in Dorne. It will be with those with whom I feel I can be of value with a husband whom I can respect and believe will show me respect in turn. It is my sincere hope that when and if I do receive an offer I wish to consider, you will join with my brother in allowing me the right of refusal of any offer. I will consult you and will obey you in this matter, Your Grace.
> 
> The Princess, my lord brother, and I went for a long walk yesterday and she did not tire from the effort. I am pleased to report she continues to improve.
> 
> Lady Sansa

His Small Counsel and, in particular, his Hand did not fear him when he scowled his worst at their assertion that he needed to marry again and at least try to provide an heir to Westeros. Davos did not bother to hide his desire that the queen of Westeros, Stannis’ new wife, be none other than Lady Sansa. With each raven, Stannis found himself warming more and more to the idea. From their regular correspondence, he found her intelligent and genuinely concerned and actively engaged in the well-being of those in her charge. The ravens from Shireen showed she had his daughter’s admiration and affirmed that she did, indeed, make every effort to see to the needs of those at Winterfell, including his men.

Stannis' hesitation in offering for Lady Sansa, came from two concerns. The first was that Shireen spoke often of young Lord Stark and it appeared from what she relayed that he was attentive to her. Stannis did not need for her to necessarily make a marriage for the sake of alliance, yet he could not afford for the rest of the realm to see too strong a tie to the North by them both marrying Starks of Winterfell. He would not subject Shireen to the alliance her mother and he had if he could avoid it.

He reread the part of her raven where Lady Sansa claimed she wished to be where she would be of value and with a husband she could respect and would respect her. Was that enough for her in a husband? More to the point, was respect all he really wanted of her. Of course, it was all he would ask of her and it was all he would ever let on that he required beyond her doing her duty were she to accept him. The second impediment was the one of which Davos and the Small Counsel would never hear. Was the heart no one believed he had at risk by a girl he'd never laid eyes on where his only real knowledge of her came from her carefully worded missives and the report of others? He had made a fool of himself over Melisandre. He would allow himself such vulnerability again. The one thing Stannis knew he was capable of was keeping whatever he felt buried deep within. In truth, it often stayed buried even when there was no reason for it to be, such as his feeling for his daughter. The fact of the matter was that while he would sacrifice the possibility of Lady Sansa as Queen of Westeros for Shireen's sake, and indeed, based on Lady Sansa's own desires, he had no better choice . . . at least no better choice he could bring himself to consider unless forced to do so. 

Stannis could put it off no longer, nor did he want to. Subtlety was not something he possessed, so he would get straight to the point while also allowing Lady Sansa the courtesy of making the decision for herself.


	7. Chapter 7

Winterfell  
Sansa

Sansa opened the next raven from the King with trepidation. His last had been short and the tone appeared to her as one barely masking anger, or at the minimum, disapproval. She also feared she might have misinterpreted the tone of the previous raven and would open this one to learn her king favored the match between Prince Quentyn and herself. Slim fingers attached to shaking hands raise the parchment in order to read.

  


> Lady Sansa
> 
> My last raven to you was curt and I will not insult you by saying it was not my usual type of discourse, for it was very much my usual address. I am sure you are well aware that I am a king with no wife and no male heir. While I find it entirely suitable to have Princess Shireen as my sole heir, the realm does not. Therefore, I find it is my duty to marry. 
> 
> As you so rightfully noted, you should one day marry to make way for a new Lady Stark and have your own home. Although Prince Quentyn is far younger than I and Dorne would be a far more desirable place to live than King's Landing and the Red Keep, I would still be so bold as to ask you to consider becoming the Queen of Westeros were there not a possible impediment. The ravens I have received from my daughter lead me to believe it is possible she may have formed a close tie with Lord Stark. My Hand tells me that, before he left to join me here, they had become close friends. Shireen has had little happiness in her life and as it would be impolitic for both my daughter and I to marry into the same family, I would sacrifice my desires for hers as I would strongly suspect you would do the same for your lord brother. You would know more of their regard for one another than I; however, consider that I would not have Lord Stark marry my daughter were he not capable of returning any regard she may have in full measure.
> 
> If, however, they have not formed a tie to one another, I would ask you to consider my offer to become my queen. I will not attempt to encourage your acceptance or coerce you in any way. I am much older, not appealing to the eye of any lady, much less a young lady, and there is little to recommend in my manner as, no doubt, you have heard of my dour demeanor from my daughter, my Hand, and others. I have developed a high opinion of you, both from the consistently high report of others and from our correspondence. In marrying me, you would have a man who respects you. Only you know whether you can return that respect. I await your considered reply.
> 
> Stannis Baratheon

Sansa carefully rolled up the scroll and walked to the window where she stared out onto the landscape with its odd mix of patches of green grass and snow now darkened from the activity of carts, horses, and people coming and going about the business of day to day life at Winterfell. She would be lying to herself if she tried to say she had not thought of the King as a potential husband. She would never be able to explain to Rickon or Jeyne, or anyone else at Winterfell how she could possible contemplate returning to King’s Landing to be the wife of a man over twice her age and with such a reputation for, how did he put it? Having a dour demeanor. The fact that being his wife would also make her queen of the realm was the least to recommend such a prospect.

As for Shireen, it was quite obvious that the King was not aware of the attachment between his daughter and the son of his Hand. Lord Seaworth had already lamented that such a marriage could not be as a princess would not be sacrificed for a marriage that brought nothing to the realm. The hope that time apart would damper their affections was why Lord Seaworth insisted his son return to King’s Landing with him. Sansa saw no evidence of success in that quarter and often wondered if the Hand was aware of the ravens his son sent the Princess. Were he to see their effect on Shireen, he would know his plan was not working.

If Shireen truly had to marry for alliance, Sansa asked herself what marriage to Rickon would bring? The North was already an ally to King Stannis and, upon her insistence and with great persuasion, she had encouraged the Stark bannermen to make no conditions for their loyalty. Both the King and the Hand knew this. To reward the North for their loyalty by making one of their daughters queen was one thing, but she could not see the gain for either the North or the Iron Throne were Shireen to stay as Rickon’s wife except that Winterfell would gain a kind, generous, and intelligent Lady Stark and Rickon a wife it may take him longer than Sansa would hope to settle down and be a sensible husband to merely because he did not regard her in that fashion. She did not see happiness in Shireen in this. In many ways, marrying a stranger who did not know of your previous attachment would be preferable to marrying a friend who knew he was not the husband you wanted. While still alluding to the fact that neither he, nor Shireen, could wholly avoid concerns of the realm in their choice of partners, it added to her approval of her King that he was attempting to see to his daughter’s happiness.

She wrote several drafts of a reply before tying up the scroll and giving it to Maester Birch to release with the one Shireen had finished days before. She meant to tell no one of the King’s offer or of her reply until she heard from him again.


	8. Chapter 8

King’s Landing  
Stannis

That his Hand missed nothing was generally a source of pride and faith in his choice; however, where Lady Sansa was concerned, it could be extremely irritating. Stannis knew his Hand had surmised that he had initiated an offer to Lady Sansa, although he doubted he knew the duality of the offer. There were times when he told himself that if Shireen married Rickon Stark, he would not need to marry. Their son could be his heir. He would further tell himself this plan would be the best outcome. And yet, he knew that he wanted a different outcome . . . one that was of equal benefit to Shireen, but one that brought Lady Sansa to King’s Landing all the same. What he considered selfishness on his part did not please him. He was uncertain just how much of his offer to Lady Sansa was for the good of the realm or the fantasies of a man who read letters that made him believe that certain changes in his life might indeed be possible.

Of course, Stannis realized what gave Davos the ability to discern he had made inquiry of Lady Sansa. Even he could barely tolerate the mood he had been in since his raven had left King’s Landing. Davos had had to stop him from passing a sentence of death for a man accused of urinating on the outer wall of the Red Keep; smooth ruffled feathers when Stannis tried to fire the entire kitchen staff over parsnips that were overcooked; and talk Ser Andrew Estermont out of returning to the Free City of Lys when Stannis suddenly burst out with renewed accusations of treason for his part in sparing Edric Storm after Ser Andrew disagreed with him in a Small Counsel meeting. And those were just the actions of the previous day.

This day was no better. In their private afternoon meeting, the subject of the orphanage requested by the septas of King’s Landing came into question. Davos showed him areas where enough funds could be diverted were they to already have a building in mind that could be renovated rather than building a new one. Davos’ interesting choice of Petyr Baelish’s largest brothel, which had fallen on hard times with winter and the loss of its overseer, was a small diversion. “It is a move that will not be popular with the noblemen in or visiting King’s Landing, but it will gain great support from the common folk,” Davos said at the finish of his thorough overview of both funding and logistics .

“Yes, but there is now the matter of the displaced whores to deal with,” Stannis countered without enthusiasm. “I hope your earlier suggestion that the whores take care of the children instead of the septas was an attempt at a jest.”

Davos leaned back in his chair a bit. “Several of the whores will try to move on to find a place to do similar work, and someone will crop up to replace Petyr Baelish as their overseer. There are a few who have children and who are there because it is their only way of keeping a roof over their heads. The septas might like the idea of being able to redeem these women into a different kind of service. What this new orphanage will need is a patron . . . such as a new queen.”

And there it was. Stannis set his jaw and felt himself grinding his teeth, having so easily walked into that trap. “If the Princess is up to the task upon her arrival in what I assume will be either before or just after such renovations are completed, she may see to the task in my name.”

“I am quite sure the Princess will be up to the task,” Davos asserted. “However, it is an office more suited to your queen.”

“I do not have a queen, Lord Hand," he said through gritted teeth.

Davos smiled an annoyingly indulgent smile, “But you will do. If you do not wish to tell your Hand what he already knows, Sire, that is as it will be.”

Stannis scoffed, knowing it was ridiculous to keep up the full pretense. “You sound as though my asking this of Lady Sansa makes it so. Should she not be given the ability to refuse such an offer given what you have told me of the things that happened to her here? Would it not be kinder for her king to broker a marriage for her that would give keep her far away from a place that would cause her such pain?”

He wasn’t sure whether to be offended by the pained expression this brought to Davos’ face. “Your Grace, whether you were aware of it or not, you have been courting this lady by raven for many moon cycles. To fob her off on someone else now, regardless of any good intentions on your part, would offend the North, not to mention her.”

Stannis was about to protest that their correspondence had certainly not been a courtship in any sense of the word when there was a rapping on the door of the meeting chambers. “Come,” an irritated Stannis barked to Ser Rolland, who he knew stood guard at the door. After a bow, Ser Rolland laid a fat scroll on the desk before him. It was tied with a gray ribbon and bearing the Stark Seal Lady Sansa began using after he suggested such in one of his earliest ravens to Winterfell. Stannis dismissed Ser Rolland with a wave and cast a strangled look at Davos. Did he want the man to watch him while he read this? To ask him to leave would be a sign that he placed a great deal of importance in what this raven may hold, so he quickly decided against it. With a swift motion, he slide the parchment from the ribbon and broke the seal.

  


> Your Grace
> 
> I shall begin by addressing the matter of the Princess and my lord brother. They are, indeed, of close accord. However, I may assure you that it is the accord akin to that of siblings for both of them. I admit my previous belief that the Princess’ future marriage would be forged solely for the sake of the realm had saddened me greatly. I, too, would sacrifice not only for her sake, but for both of them and if their happiness was assured in their marriage, I would gladly report it so for the gain to Winterfell would be immense. While I would like to think the Princess has felt herself appreciated and cared for here, she greatly misses you and longs to join you.
> 
> I understand your duty to the realm in the matter of an heir and while I have no desire to return to King’s Landing, I find to my astonishment it does not fill me with fear. I did not expect the raven carrying Prince Quentyn’s suit to bring me any measure of contentment, as indeed it did not. I hope you will allow me to admit that your offer has. Once, I viewed being the future queen of Westeros with the ideals of a child who had read too many romantic tales. I no longer wish to be queen; however, I find I greatly wish to be the wife of a man I respect, who has a reputation for honesty and justice, and of whom those closest to him speak of him as one who puts his responsibilities above himself. As I cannot be the wife of such a man without taking on the mantle of queen, I can only hope I am able to performing that task well and will do you credit.
> 
> What your raven did not tell me was when you wished this to occur. I would be of benefit to my lord brother were I to stay until he decides to take a wife, yet I am no longer a necessity to the rebuilding of Winterfell. Our maester is more than capable of acting as castellan and seeing to my lord brother’s further advancement. The Princess should have at least two moon cycles to regain her strength in order to make a journey at no additional risk to her health. Perhaps we could journey to King’s Landing together, if that is your wish?
> 
> I have not told my lord brother, nor the Princess, of your raven. If my acceptance pleases you, I thought perhaps you would prefer to broach the subject with the Princess.
> 
> Sansa

It took great effort to school his expression while Davos scrutinized him so closely, although he was quite sure the man was able to read even the slightest tick in his jaw. Stannis sat Lady Sansa’s parchment down, watching it return to its previously rolled position, before reading Shireen’s raven. His daughter echoed Lady Sansa’s that she would be well enough to travel soon and noted that while she would miss those she had developed such a close bond with at Winterfell, she was eager to join him in King's Landing. Upon inspection, he had to agree that her one mention of Lord Stark showed no undue affection beyond a fondness for a boy with strange ways and a manner she found amusing.

Stannis was unsure how felt about Lady Sansa’s acceptance. While her words assured him she was aware of the gravity of taking on the mantel of being queen, they also gave him the impression she was, dare he say it, eager where marriage to him, for the sake of his person, was concerned. And yet, that could not be. And if it were, he doubted she would be as eager once she met him. He was deciding how to ensure she understood that his assertions that he was neither a pleasant, nor appealing man were not mere modesty before committing herself when Davos broke the silence. “Perhaps you will now agree to a Coronation since the combination of a coronation and a wedding feast would be not only prudent, but economical, Your Grace.”


	9. Chapter 9

Winterfell  
Sansa

Sansa was so preoccupied with making it look as though nothing had altered in her daily life and mentally taking note of all she needed to attend to in preparation for her probable departure for King’s Landing, she did not notice Shireen’s unusual observance of her. It took Rickon asking why the Princess was watching her so closely during the past few days for her to realize it was happening. Sansa waited until they were in her solar attending to the mending to ask if all was well.

“Sweetling,” Sansa asked, concentrating on making even stitches, “Have I done anything that offends or concerns you?”

Shireen’s eyes opened in wide surprise. “No!” she exclaimed, “Why would you ask such a question?”

Much relieved, Sansa attempted an answer. “It was brought to my attention that you were observing me in an unusual manner and, after that was brought to my attention, it seemed to me this person had the right of it. I was concerned I might have offended you in some way I wasn’t aware.”

The young princess’ blush was so deep, Sansa though even the scales on her left cheek managed to turn a shade of pink. “I was looking for some indication that . . . that you might have reached an accord with my father.”

Sansa could not have been more astonished if Shireen had suddenly turned into a white walker. Surely Stannis would have told her if he had informed his daughter that he had made her an offer. “He told you so?” was the only response she could manage.

“No,” Shireen assured her as the flush left her face, “I had a raven from Devan, who overheard Lord and Lady Seaworth speculating on the matter. So he has asked you?”

At a loss for what was proper at this point, Sansa practically pleaded for the conversation to end even though she started it, “As your father is our king, I should not divulge any communications from him until he gives me leave to do so.” Of course, this was an admission without truly being an admission. She would recommend to the Hand that he be more careful in who might be listening to any of his future speculations about his king.

Shireen was quick to understand her plight, yet not as quick to give up the conversation. “When Devan, Edric, and I were children in class, there were times when Maester Cressen would fall asleep and we could not leave the room, so we played games. One of our games was ‘what would happen if’. For instance, what would happen if dragons were still alive? Little did we know at the time that such were possible and how horrible it would be. Perhaps we could pass the time with this game?”

She knew Shireen to be highly intelligent, yet not one to feel the need for everyone to be aware of it. The Princess was giving her a means of talking about the situation, as she had to allow she was dying to do, without admitting to anything she should not. “What would you have us imagine?”

“What would happen if,” Shireen started with a smile on her face, “the King, my father, were to decide he needed a queen to provide an heir. She would have to be a lady from one of the liege houses in Westeros, do not you agree?”

“A liege house or one of the higher cadet houses,” Sansa played along.

Both made a few stitches before Shireen continued. “She would also have to be of a certain age. Young enough to be considered able to bear many children, yet not too young for a man such as my father. Would you agree?”

“I was only three and ten when I was betrothed to Joffrey. I would agree that it would be in your father’s best interest that she be older than that, surely. Others may not see it so.” For the first time, Sansa considered that those in the King’s counsel might consider her too old.

Shireen’s eyes grew wide. “I assure you my father could not countenance marriage to someone any younger than, say . . . eight and ten. At that age, she would have to be one who was very . . .” Shireen could not seem to find the word she was looking for.

“Old,” Sansa provided. There were many days when she felt far older than the years she possessed.

“Not ‘old’,” the Princess insisted. “He would need someone wiser than most of that age. I dare say the former queen, Margaery Tyrell will be presented as an option if she has not already. The Tyrells have proven she is still a maid despite her numerous marriages. I cannot see my father considering my uncle's widow, regardless of whether she was truly his wife or no.”

Sansa had no qualms about being unkind where the Tyrells were concerned given they had no qualms about making it look as though she was part of Joffrey’s murder when it was their doing. She did not fault them for seeing to such, for she would have if she could. But putting suspicion on her and Tyrion was what she could not forgive. “Margaery Tyrell must be seen as a bad omen for a king. Two died while married to her and one was dethroned and forced into hiding.”

“Very true,” Shireen agreed. “As his daughter, I would strongly advise my father not to consider Lady Margaery. There is Arianne Martell. My father would use the excuse that she is too old and that my mother was not able to bear children at the age Lady Arianne is now. I believe it would be a dangerous alliance in any case. There is Lady Asha.”

Sansa couldn’t help but blurt out a giggle. “Your father has met Lady Asha. She is known to him.” Sansa had developed a fondness for Asha, who reminded her of Mya Stone. She was worried her for fate, as well as Theon’s, for the King would have to make a decision regarding them soon. Sansa had many reasons to hate Theon, yet she had just as many to give forgiveness knowing how much of it she felt she needed in what had happened to her family.

“My father would know what Ser Justin does not seem to be able to grasp. Lady Asha may bow to a King, grudgingly, but she will not bend to the will of a husband, nor to the customs of the king’s court at King’s Landing. Her choice of wardrobe as queen would cause quite a stir.”

Sansa had to bite her lip to keep from letting another giggle loose and both had a twinkle in their eye that noted the amusement they found in such a notion.

Taking a deep breath and sewing a few more stitches on the shirt she was mending for one of her father’s men, Shireen continued. “That leaves us with Lady Sansa of Winterfell.”

“We have not yet considered the ladies from the cadet houses.”

“Nor should we until we have first considered the ladies from the liege houses. Protocol demands that we act accordingly.”

“What is your opinion of Lady Sansa? She would be a little young for you to consider as a mother, but whomever marries your father would be just that.”

Shireen ensured she caught her eye and smiled. “Of all we could possibly consider for my father’s queen, Lady Sansa is the one I would most consult as one would a mother for she has cared for me and nurtured me through an illness in a way I do not remember the mother who gave me birth doing.”

This brought tears to Sansa’s eyes, which she wiped quickly. “Kings usually marry for alliance and the North, Winterfell in particular, is already allied with your father.”

“Our King will not marry solely for alliance again, I assure you. While some lords and kings may search elsewhere for what they find lacking in a wife forced on them, my father is not of that ilk and Ser Davos knows this.” It was then that Shireen’s face grew very serious. “There are those at Winterfell who might have spoken out of turn accidentally and told something she wished she had not. This person alluded to Lady Sansa having had tender regard for one who is now dead, but who had been scarred and not of an easy manner.”

The only person Sansa had confided in about Sandor Clegane was Jeyne Poole. She could not fault Jeyne for telling what she should not have told her, for she knew speculation about whom she might one day marry was sport at Winterfell.

“I take heart that Lady Sansa, having both found the good in a man whose misfortunes had made him hard and cold and brought out good in him, might do so again.”

Sansa herself had drawn parallels between Sandor and the King, yet she was surprised anyone else would, particularly Shireen. “Do you find your father hard and cold?”

“Most do. I have those who expressed pity for me, not for my scars, but for being unloved. Queen Cercei used to express it with the sound of pity in her voice, but a gleam in her eye that even one as young as I at the time could not mistake as being quite the opposite. I am not sure what my mother’s affections for me really were. I do believe I was a disappointment to her . . . that any daughter would have been. She wanted a son and heir so that she could consider her duty complete, and then to be left alone in her worship of R’hllor. My father, to all outward appearances, showed no affection and yet, somehow, I have always felt and been confident of it. He finds outward displays of regard uncomfortable.”

Sansa had heard this alluded to about King Stannis, but it was the first time she considered what that could mean for her as his wife and hoped Shireen was not waiting for her to comment on how “Lady Sansa” might view a husband reputed to have such a cold manner. Fortunately, they were interrupted by Maester Birch who requested her presence in the storerooms.

It was no more than an hour after her mock “what would happen if” with Shireen that King Stannis’ raven arrived. Sansa went to her bedchamber where she could read it undisturbed.

  


> My Lady Sansa
> 
> While your acceptance is welcomed, the swiftness of your reply is of grave concern, to such an extent that I will wait a moon cycle to allow you time to consider carefully before announcing our betrothal. Do not see this as a desire on my part for you to reconsider. It is only just for you to have a life of peace after what you have been through at the hands of those who abused their power over you. I realize my offer may appear as more abuse of power and that you may feel you do not have the ability to refuse or fear repercussions for Winterfell if you do. I assure you that you do have the right, yet again stress that giving you that right does not mean I wish you to exercise it. Your actions at Winterfell and what you have undertaken there have proved you more than capable of taking on the task of Queen of Westeros.
> 
> My foremost concern is that I perceive you have a mistaken notion of my person. You have ascribed to me attributes that I would like to think I possess in some measure, but you may be mistaken in a belief that those attributes are wrapped in an appealing package. Let me assure you they are not. I would also be remiss if I did not admit I was neither a good husband, nor was I a good father. I did not plan it so, and take no pleasure in that report, but I have not an idea of how I would change to be any different in a marriage between us. In marrying me, you would have the respect you claim is of importance and you would have all the security it is in my power to give. You must decide whether that is enough.
> 
> While I give you time to consider and await your final answer, I will make plans for the return of my men at Winterfell as escorts for Shireen in two moon cycles’ time and hope you to be among the party. I have assumed fewer mouths to feed at Winterfell would be welcome; however, if you have need of my men there for longer, you need only ask. The realm needs strength in the North, so do not hesitate, if necessary.
> 
> Was I correct in sensing there is something about Shireen you are not telling me? I occasionally get the same sense from my Hand.
> 
> Stannis


	10. Chapter 10

King’s Landing  
Stannis

After the experience of reading Lady Sansa’s last raven under the watchful gaze of his Hand, Stannis issued orders that future ravens from Winterfell were to be delivered to his squire, presently his Seaworth namesake, who was under further instructions to deliver the ravens to him upon his return to his bedchamber for the night. By his calculations, it took the raven three days to make the journey. With a few exceptions, Lady Sansa usually wrote back within a day. Considering the raven required another three days to return, the earliest reply he could have received would have been three days ago. Stannis knew his being unreasonable was nothing unusual. He wanted to be assured that Lady Sansa had taken time to consider, yet he did not have the patience to wait. In his most unreasonable moments, he regretted giving her more time to consider. Had he not, Stannis could inform everyone and get on with the business of the realm while awaiting the arrival of the party from Winterfell. Davos would insist on planning the coronation he had long desired for his king, and he was correct that it would be prudent to have both the coronation celebration and a wedding feast as one.

The ravens from his daughter and his . . . could he call her his betrothed at this juncture? . . . were now sitting on his bedside table with a candle already alight for reading. He forced himself to read Shireen’s first. She informed him that she was elated that she would be joining him in King’s Landing soon and that she would be reunited with the Seaworths. Shireen seemed genuinely happy of the news he had imparted in his last raven that Edric Storm was now Ser Edric and that he was betrothed to Jeyne Penrose of House Penrose. 

Putting down Shireen’s raven, he opened Lady Sansa’s and read.

  


> Your Grace
> 
> Your raven assuring me that the decision is mine and that your request for my acceptance was not merely a formality gives me greater assurance that you are a man and king of great character despite all of your protestations regarding your person. However, I will take time to consider as you requested so that we may both be assured that this was entered into soberly and with sound judgment. If, during that time, you reconsider and find you do not wish me to be your wife, I too will release you from your offer.
> 
> All of your men have been tireless workers and of great credit to the rebuilding of Winterfell. Some have formed ties here that I would regret having broken, and would wish to formalize with marriages that would have sought your approval beforehand were it possible. There are several children who have been born with the name “Snow” that I would hope you would give their father’s names and allow their parents to marry and either stay or take their new family with them to the Stormlands. I would humbly ask no retribution for their having formed ties and created these families. I assure you I cannot point to one where I was not asked for a blessing in your absence, yet felt neither I, nor Rickon, could do no more than give a blessing but not permission to marry. As such, no child of these unions has been allowed to be treated any differently than children born on the right side of the blanket.
> 
> There is also the matter of Theon and Lady Asha that I would bring to your attention. If you approve, I believe I can persuade the Stark bannermen that living as he does now is revenge enough to enact on Theon for his past crimes. However, I am uncertain about their staying at Winterfell after the larger compliment of your men have gone. While I do not believe they would cause trouble themselves, it is possible her uncles would and they would have to make a choice in whom to support. I will be forever grateful to Lady Asha for all she has done to help rebuild and for her efforts in working as has been required for all in getting through this winter. Regardless of our personal decisions, this is a matter that will need consideration in the near future.
> 
> That you sense something regarding the Princess is true; however, it is not mine to tell. I would assure you there is nothing for which you need have great concern. She improves steadily and I only fear you are expecting a child to return to you and hope you will be delighted with the young woman you will find instead.
> 
> Sansa

Stannis hated realizing that his set jaw and teeth grinding at the start of reading Lady Sansa’s raven quickly subsided the moment he read just enough to assure him she had not yet changed her mind. He was impressed that most of her raven was spent on sensible matters with, to his relief, no more than a touch of what he could call feminine nonsense. Once again, Stannis compared her raven to memories of the ravens he had received from Selyse, which were largely sent to lodge some complaint. Stannis also wondered if she would be as sensible once here in King's Landing. Somehow, he could not give credence to the idea that a young girl with as much beauty as she is credited with would be both sensible and satisfied with marrying a man such as himself, regardless of whether he was king. And despite the fact that he could not credit it and had never laid eyes on her, Stannis Baratheon . . . King Stannis, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm . . . he wanted her. He had a great deal of nerve in wondering if _she_ was truly sensible!


	11. Chapter 11

Winterfell  
Sansa

In the days that passed before the arrival of the King’s next raven, Sansa spent what time she was not occupied with the day’s activities in doing as the King requested, seriously contemplating his offer and whether she should rescind her acceptance. It was not what others said about King Stannis or what she knew of his zealousness for duty and lack of charm that was of concern. Nor was it his age or concern that he might truly be as physically unappealing as he seemed to want to assure her he was. It was what his ravens implied he believed about her. The King seemed to have a preconceived notion that she was still the shallow child who left Winterfell years ago believing in an idyllic life as the future queen to a fair-haired king. Sansa was aware that he had spent time with Jon, and Jon would not have been incorrect if that had been the image he gave of the sister he had known before they parted company those many years before war and winter.

The truth was that Sansa knew she could find herself disappointed. Should the King ignore her or treat her as insignificant, she would be terribly disappointed. It was equally true that there was no way of knowing what life would be like with King Stannis until she were living it. By the time the King's next raven had arrived, Sansa had moved from absolute certainty that marrying the King was what she should do to a state of utter confusion. She hoped there was something in this next missive that would sway her one way or the other.

> Lady Sansa
> 
> You may as well know now that patience is not a virtue I possess in any measure. When you reaffirmed my suspicion that there was something about my daughter for which I was ignorant, I knew it was something my Hand knew as well. I wielded my power inappropriately with threats to extract the remaining digits he was still able to use, and forced him to tell me that he suspected an attachment between his son and Shireen, yet all considered such a marriage impossible as it strengthened no alliances nor created any political gain. My first marriage was such a marriage and it was a misery to us both. I could see no gain for Robert in it either that could not have been gained through other means.
> 
> I have informed my Hand that, after her return and a proper amount of time to see if this attachment is genuine and of long duration, I would give Ser Devan my permission to ask my daughter, to whom I give final say in the matter. I am writing such to Shireen. Her freedom to marry as she wishes it not entirely without stipulation. If I am unable to produce an heir, it may fall to her to do so and then Ser Devan’s lineage may be of concern to those for whom breeding is more important than character. I realize relaying such to you could be seen as an inducement for you to spare her the political marriage neither of us wants for her by accepting me. I assure you that I will do all in my power, no matter what your decision, to see that Shireen is spared such.
> 
> Attached with this raven is a separate parchment that gives Lord Stark the authority to approve any marriages required of my men in my name. I stipulate in this raven; however, that it is yours to approve and his to make official. Given a list of those who need to be legitimized after these marriages take place, I will so grant and send the appropriate documents by courier. My only question is whether there will be enough men returning to the Stormlands to accompany Shireen, and possibly you, to King’s Landing?
> 
> As for the Greyjoys, I will need to consult with my Small Counsel before passing judgement on their fate. Rest assured that I will consider their recent deeds along with their past deeds and the influences that framed both. Also, the enclosed raven to Ser Justin Massey will play a part in that decision.
> 
> I will assume, unless I hear otherwise, that preparations are being made for the Princess’ return, along with those men and their families who are leaving Winterfell. Ser Justin's reply to his raven should answer those questions put to him to work out matters yet unresolved regarding travel. I would ask one more raven of you to let me know whether you will be among those making the journey. Whatever you decide, I will always be in your debt.
> 
> Stannis

Sansa set aside the additional ravens to give to Shireen and Ser Justin, and read through the raven once more. Just as she had hoped; the King's raven had given her the information she needed to make a final decision, and she would not delay in replying.


	12. Chapter 12

King’s Landing  
Stannis

A raven had been received from Dragonstone that the ship carrying his daughter and . . . his betrothed . . . was entering Blackwater Bay and the arrival was anticipated this morning. He had missed the regular correspondence with Lady Sansa and with his daughter. But now that they were almost here, Stannis’ mood was one he was not proud of. It was one he would have chastised his brother over, but one he allowed himself knowing that, as king, he could get away with behaving however he wished and he wished to let loose at the moment. He half expected his Hand to come in with sword in hand over the verbal thrashing he had given his squire, Stannis Seaworth, for young Seaworth allowing others to desecrate his name by referring to him as ‘Stan’, which was no better in Stannis’ eyes than the “Stanny” Lady Seaworth had encouraged when his squire was a boy.

Stannis was reminded of something he had said to the Theon Greyjoy when Greyjoy insisted Ramsay Bolton was someone to be feared. He had given the turncoat a list of the major battles he had won before asking what the Bolton bastard had done that Stannis should fear him. Now he had to ask himself, could he call this dread he was feeling fear? And if it was, what had Lady Sansa Stark done that he should fear her? Fear was foreign to him and while it wasn't knee-wobbling fear or the kind that made one break out into a cold sweat, it was a relentless gnawing in the gut that there was some sort of danger present. If he were honest, Robert’s lack of regard for him had wounded him more than once and he had hated himself for allowing it to be of consequence. Somehow, he knew Lady Sansa could do more than wound him if she so chose; not in the physical sense, but in a sense that he would find far more damaging.

The party that waited at the dock was made up of Ser Rolland and five others of the King’s Guard, as well as his Hand and Lady Seaworth. The men had all made the journey on horseback and Lady Seaworth was transported in the carriage meant to convey her, Shireen, and Lady Sansa back to the Red Keep. It was obvious Davos had warned his wife to keep quiet, for she did not approach him with her usual geniality. While she was probably unaware, Stannis held Lady Seaworth in high esteem. She had borne many trials, including the loss of her sons, with great dignity and managed to approach him, author of most of her burdens, with a sweetness of spirit despite it. Many “ladies” would never have asked for an audience and gone to such an effort to genuinely thank him for something as simple as allowing her to live with her husband in the Tower of the Hand when tradition had it that the Hand’s wife remained at home. Of course, the primary reason he had been able to allow it was because she did not interfere with her husband’s duties and never, at least not in any way that he was aware of, complained. The Seaworths convinced Stannis that in a truly just world, nobility was a matter of personal character rather than of birth.

As the ship was brought alongside, the first to disembark was Ser Devan, who walked up to his king first and bowed. “Your Grace. Princess Shireen and Lady Sansa ask if you would consider joining them on-board before they come ashore.”

Stannis took a deep breath, and felt his scowl deepen. He was responsible for this and he knew it. His assertion in a previous raven that others would watch their public interactions had undoubtedly caused Lady Sansa to decide their first meeting should be in private. Walking up the plank with Ser Devan and his Guard behind him, he took the fact that she paid attention to his direction with a bit of pride, even if the result was bound to cause more talk than it prevented. This was probably wise for reasons she had not planned. If Lady Sansa could not hide her disappointment upon seeing him, it would be best if only he were witness to it.

Young Devan showed him to the door of the nearest cabin and opened it. When Ser Rolland made to go in first in an attempt to ensure his safety, Stannis gave him his fiercest scowl. What he had to fear from Lady Sansa was nothing Ser Rolland could protect him from. The pocked warrior retreated in silence and made way for his king.

Before him were two young ladies, one with hair the color of bright copper and other dark as night, who both executed flawless curtsies. He first caught the eye of his daughter who stood slightly before Lady Sansa, as was proper. Stannis was certain Lady Sansa knew every iota of such proprieties.

“Fath . . . Your Grace,” Shireen said in a voice choked with emotion as she stepped towards him.

“I prefer Father when we are among family and those closest to us, such as the Seaworths,” Stannis supplied awkwardly. Her eyes reminded him of his mother, whom he still remembered vividly. Lady Sansa had been correct. He had left a child at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and had a young lady returned to him. “You have gotten taller,” he said. It sounded inane, he wished it unsaid the moment it reached his ears.

However, it must have been the correct thing to say because she positively beamed at him. For several seconds they both stood and looked at each other. Then, she sniffled and ran to him, and as he always did as a reaction to the sheer surprise of it, he moved his arms outward and she threw her arms around him, only now it was around his waist and not his legs as of old. Over her shoulder he saw Lady Sansa, eyes bright and beginning to water. She made a motion of moving both her arms before her until the tips of her fingers touched, Shireen still held him tightly as he looked at Lady Sansa quizzically. She made the gesture again and he understood. In a manner he found clumsy, he moved the arms raised at his sides until they were around his daughter’s shoulders. At this, he heard her sob and she held him even tighter.

His eyes sought the Tully blue eyes before him inquiring of whether he had made matters worse and he was met with even more uncertainty because she, too, looked as though she were fighting to avoid sobbing despite the fact that she had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

Stannis tried not to seem relieved when Shireen finally let go of him and stepped back wiping stray tears from her eyes. He must have looked like a true stag in torchlight for she began to apologize. “I am sorry, Father. I promised myself that I had outgrown that behavior.”

“No,” he insisted in a bark. “While I may not comport myself well, had you not greeted me as usual, I would have felt the loss.” Stannis was surprised to realize it how much truth was in something he originally meant to say as something to soothe her. Indeed, he was grateful for Lady Sansa's coaching, which bordered on insistence, that he embrace his daughter in return.

Again, his daughter smiled and it was just as beautiful to him as Lady Sansa’s smile despite the regrettable scales on one side of her face that limited how broad a smile she could manage. Shireen stepped to the side and her smile turned into a bit of an impish grin. “Father, may I present your betrothed, Lady Sansa of Winterfell.”

“Your Grace,” Lady Sansa said once again as she executed another curtsy. Stannis recognized a timber in her voice as similar to what he remembered of Catelyn Stark, but her daughter far surpassed her in beauty and poise.

“I trust your voyage was not too arduous, My Lady?” Stannis had practiced that small inquiry in his head for most of the journey from the Red Keep to the docks with little else to follow it.

“I find I quite like sea voyages,” Lady Sansa allowed, smiling up at him. “However, I do not believe any lady could love the sea as much as the Princess.”

“Except, perhaps, Lady Asha,” Shireen interjected and both of them smiled in what was obviously a jest of some sort. Davos had assured him of their companionableness and it was oddly endearing. It occurred to Stannis that he had never seen Shireen so comfortable and confident around another lady, except perhaps Lady Seaworth. He certainly had no memory of her ever having been able to share moment of mirth with her mother.

Stannis remembered the party awaiting them. “Shireen, Ser Devan is outside the door and will take you out to greet Lord and Lady Seaworth. I wish to have a word with Lady Sansa before we join you.”

“Yes, Father,” Shireen replied with a curtsy. She cast him yet another smile before moving to the door and disappearing behind it. Stannis had a sense of not deserving the reception he was receiving, but he was grateful nonetheless.

“My Lady,” he began, “I was uncertain of whether you wished a private word before we joined the others.”

Tully blue eyes held his as she took a few steps closer, stopping when she was just before him. “May I?” she asked, blushing slightly.

Stannis had no idea what she was asking permission of him for, but he found himself answering without verifying first. “Yes, you may.”

Lady Sansa stood on her toes and leaned toward him. He started to flinch, but caught himself although not before she noticed. Indulgently, she stopped for the briefest of seconds while he composed himself before she placed a kiss on his stubbled cheek just above his jaw. “I am happy to be here at last, Your Grace.”

“Stannis,” he heard himself say in a hoarse whisper, extremely thankful she had not made that gesture where others could observe for he was sure he looked a gaping idiot. Then, commanding a stronger voice and looking at her for sincerity, “As I asked of Shireen, when it is the two of us or we are among those closest to us, I would ask you to call me Stannis.” If she was being duplicitous, and it was possible she had learned the art while in the company of Cercei or Petyr Baelish, she would have to be very skilled for he could see no trace of deception in her face or hear it in her voice.

‘Yes, Stannis,” she returned in a silky whisper. Stannis looked for the door. He needed to get the two of them out of there immediately. He was in dire need of a jolt of cold morning air, for it had suddenly become far too warm in that ship’s cabin.


	13. Chapter 13

King’s Landing  
Sansa

Their arrival had been feted by an intimate supper in the Queen’s Ballroom. The supper was hosted by Lord and Lady Seaworth, and Sansa wondered why it was not held in the Hand’s Tower until she realized this was probably done for her benefit. It would, indeed, have given her a measure of sadness to return to a place so closely associated with her late lord father, Arya, and the sins of her past. No matter how much forgiveness she found in those she confided in, the things she set in motion by her own selfishness were things for which she would never truly forgive herself.

The supper had been a cordial affair and Sansa felt it generally enjoyed by all who attended with the exception of Stannis. She was learning in those first hours just how difficult he was to read, not to mention how much he seemed to eschew anything to do with enjoyment. The Seaworths, on the other hand, did not let his silence or his lack of participation dampen their enthusiasm as hosts. They were delighted to have Shireen back among them and determined to welcome Sansa into their family. She had heard much during her acquaintance with Shireen about her father’s ill treatment by his late brother, King Robert. It gave her more besides his allowing Cercei to have her way in putting Lady down. Sansa pondered whether Stannis was aware of or appreciated that he had gained the most devoted of brothers in Lord Seaworth. 

The next sennight after their arrival was filled with a flurry of activity. So much so that Sansa did not realize until she was at the beginning of the second sennight that she had not seen Stannis for more than a few moments in passing since supper the night of her arrival. Lady Seaworth, who became “Marya” by the second day of their acquaintance, was a bundle of energy with tasks she had been taken it upon herself to attend. The first was escorting both Sansa and Shireen to the dressmakers who were at the ready to provide both with new gowns, including ones for the wedding and coronation. Days had been spent in picking out fabrics, trims, and patterns. Sansa was somewhat ashamed at how much pleasure she received from this endeavor. Then, there was the time she spent completing the ornate embroidery work for her bridal cloak, for no one would allow no one to create that garment but her.

There were also her first visits to the new orphanage. Marya relayed with pride how it had been Lord Seaworth’s idea to turn one of Baelish’s largest brothels into the home for the dozens homeless children of to fulfill the request of the order of septas. While the circumstances surrounding the dire need for the orphanage were regrettable, Sansa quite approved of the overall plan of converting a symbol of excess and indulgence into one of service. Marya hinted that her husband had been concerned that the reminder of Lord Baelish, knowing this had been one of his former establishments, would cause Sansa pain. On the contrary, something he built up being used other than as he intended and for the good of defenseless children instead of his greed and gain satisfied her immensely.

In the wake of her return, a matter she expected to cause dissent reared its head early, but not from the quarter she imagined. Sansa was prepared for protestations, or at a minimum, snide remarks meant to stir action, of the women at court in King’s Landing over her wearing her hair down in the Northern fashion and not acquiescing to the South style by spending an hour allowing her handmaid to pile her hair atop her head in some elaborate design as she once had. Shireen wore her hair long and down as well now that her hair had grown out from the usually short, boyish style Sansa learned the late Queen Selyse had insisted upon. That Shireen preferred this was understandable. Her hair could be draped across much of her left cheek and used to hide her Florent ears. Sansa had once encouraged her to wear her hair up as was befitting a lady from House Baratheon, but Shireen insisted that the way one dressed one’s hair should not be about family origin, but about preference. She sounded very much her father’s daughter at such a pronouncement, although Stannis could hardly be imagined to have a care about hair. Ser Axell Florent did not agree, however. Through her chief handmaid, who did not seem to mind it being known that she intimate with someone in Ser Axell’s household, Sansa learned that the disagreeable knight had accused her of both flaunting her Northern heritage and being of undue influence over his grand-niece, the Princess. She was delighted to learn that Stannis had, without mincing words, told him to shut up and never broach the subject again.

Once Sansa realized she that it was possible she was being ignored by her betrothed, her first inclination was to ask Shireen, Marya, or both what they believed his motive to be and whether they knew of his being dissatisfied with her. She then remembered an unsolicited promise she had made to him to in one of their correspondence to always inquire of him directly so she would know the right of a matter rather than what others believed of him or what she could only guess. It took her the better part of a day while simultaneously engaged in being fitted for the crown being made for her, reviewing the first proposed menu for the wedding feast, and being consulted on music for the same to work up the courage to approach Stannis.

Inquiry informed her that, at the latter part of the day, Stannis and Lord Seaworth were generally to be found in a room created within Maegar’s Holdfast for continuing the business of the realm after meetings were over in the Small Counsel chamber. Ser Richard of House Horpe presently stood guard outside the door and, at her request, rapped on the door and, when bid, opened it to announce her. He held the door open for her to be admitted when permission was given for her to enter.

Both Stannis and Lord Seaworth stood to greet her, which was surprising as kings seldom rose to greet anyone. However, she had not missed the undisguised trace of annoyance in Stannis’ voice as he gave permission for her to enter. She curtsied to her King, “Your Grace, My Lord Hand, please forgive this intrusion.”

“How may we be of service?” Stannis asked, the annoyance still present, as well as the famous scowl that she was relieved to learn did not frighten her.

“Your Grace, might I trouble you for a word in private?” she made sure to smile at him, despite his scowl, before inclining her heard toward Lord Seaworth. “My apologies, Lord Hand. If the King will indulge me, it should take no more than ten minutes.” Sansa wasn't the least bit certain that all could be settled to her satisfaction in ten minutes, but she imagined Lord Seaworth had been made to wait more than once in his role has Hand. She also imaged Stannis would give her no more than that before returning to his work.

Stannis took in a deep breath and gave a curt nod to his Hand, who nodded back and smiled at her briefly before exiting, his back never being turned to Stannis as he did so.

“You may be seated,” he said, motioning to a high-back chair across the table from where he stood. The words may have sounded as though she had a choice, but the issuance was very much an order. He was not about to waste time on pleasantries or inquires about her health or how she was spending her time. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”

If that was to be the way of it, she would get straight to the point. “I have a question, Your Grace," she started, sitting where instructed. "I would ask about who you are. Are you the man who has not held a discourse that could be called a conversation since my arrival a fortnight ago? Or are you the man in the ravens with whom I could exchange thoughts and opinions?”

Sansa was not to be treated to any change in his expression, but took a small amount of pleasure that he had no quick or wry comment in return. Stannis’ dark blue eyes bore into hers as if daring her to look away before he finally replied. “There has been much to do . . . for both of us. We each have responsibilities.”

It was hardly an answer, and she frankly expected him to initially show anger at the question rather than provide such an evasion. Determined, Sansa pressed onward with her quest. “Yes, I know the demands of the realm and that you are dedicated to meeting them. As am I. However, if you could find time to write a raven at least once a sennight, could you not use that same time to impart the same measure of communication, at a minimum, to my person?”

He still did not seem angry as much as annoyed as evidenced by the presence of the scowl, but the absence of the grinding teeth or clenched jaw she had yet to see, but had heard so much of. “What would you have us speak of?” he asked.

Stannis may not have been angry, but his dismissive tone and glib question angered her. Upon her arrival, did he find something about her person to suggest she was no longer worthy of communication? Without asking permission, she stood and held out her hand to him. “I would ask you to come with me to the window, Your Grace.”

He, again, stared at her before standing. Stannis did not take her hand, but came around the table to her side. Mildly embarrassed are her proffered hand being ignored, she swallowed and led them over to the long, narrow window to show him what she had observed on her way there, hoping the couple was still in the courtyard.

“We could talk about them as a beginning,” Sansa noted while he looked out and saw the tableau before him. His daughter and his former squire sat on a bench in the courtyard. Anyone with eyes could tell by one look at them how very much devoted they were to one another despite their attempt to not sit too close or be seen with hands adjoined. “In our ravens, we noted that destroying the relationships of those who might find happiness in one another is a chief sport here. We might discuss how to prevent such a fate for them until such time as they can be married and safely removed to Cape Wrath to have a life together there.”

The look Stannis gave her before returning his gaze to the courtyard was undoubtedly one of reproach. “Have you not talked to her about such displays where others may see?”

“I have,” Sansa replied, looking out at them fondly, but with an equal measure of anxiousness for their well-being. “What you are witnessing is the most the two of them can manage at feigning indifference since reunited.” Then in a gentle whisper, she added, “They are in love, Stannis. Let us find a way to allow that to flourish.”

“It is my every intention of making their marriage possible, but it will be difficult, even for a king, until . . .” Stannis stopped, not willing to say more.

“Yes, Your Grace, until you have an heir.” Sansa still kept her voice at a level slightly above a whisper despite there being no one else in the room to overhear. “We shall do our best to see to that, if that is what you still desire.”

“Still desire?” he repeated absently, continuing to watch his daughter and Ser Devan in the courtyard.

Sansa let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “I told you that I would ask you directly when I had doubts about what you are thinking. I doubt you are as pleased with your choice for queen. Is that correct or am I mistaken?”

That diverted his attention from the scene out the window. “I have not said so, nor have I implied it in any way!”

“Your silence has implied it,” she insisted, although still keeping her voice lowered.

Stannis’ voice, however, rose in volume and there it was for her to observe firsthand, the clenched jaw and attempt to talk through grinding teeth. “Did I not tell you I am a dour man you would not find companionable?”

She was determined not to let it deter her. “How would I know if you are companionable when you avoid being in my company for either of us to make such a determination?”

His eyes narrowed and for a second, she felt a frizzon of fear as Stannis informed her, “You may take my word on the matter, My Lady.”

 _I am a daughter of House Stark and I have weather far more violent storms that this display of petulance._ Raising an eyebrow as she somehow felt a physical response to meet his own was required, she scoffed. “You do me a great disservice, Your Grace, by assuming what I will or will not think or feel. I am trying not to do the same to you.”

Stannis leaned towards her, he eyes still narrowed and his jaw still clenched. “I am not a man to be played with, Sansa,” he barked out under his breath.

This was not a response she understood and her confusion softened her insistent manner. “Please explain. Of what, specifically, are you accusing me?”

In turn, his anger seemed to turn to frustration as he took a deep breath and ran a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. Stannis moved away from the window and began to pace, “You have done . . . it is not . . . it is that I cannot . . . DAMNED!”

“Tell me, Stannis,” she implored him. “Please, just tell me!”

Turning away from her, he ground out in a hiss, “You kissed me!””

While Sansa could not tell you what she expected him to say, she did not expect that. “I asked your permission,” she sputtered in a feeble response. For the first time, it occurred to her that the hints that Stannis was cold and unfeeling might be true. And yet, he had not reacted like a man who was disgusted by what happened when she pressed that light kiss on his jaw.

“I did not realize that is what you were asking permission to do.”

His explanation was of no help to her understanding. “You are going to bed me for an heir, but I may never kiss you? Even a kiss as innocently meant as that kiss?”

Stannis’ pacing continued. “NO!” he spat out. “Of course, you . . . you . . . why would you want to?”

Normally, such a remark would invoke sympathy although she knew it was not something he would ever seek, not from her or anyone else. However, she was too angry to try to reason with him and make assurance once again that she wanted to be his wife. Instead, she treated the statement with a touch of absurdity. “At this very moment, I am not exactly certain why such an urge would come upon me, yet I am foolish enough for it to come upon me again at some future date. So please tell me what is your objection?”

The pacing stopped and he came alongside her again, looking her in the eyes as if to punctuate his words. “You cannot kiss me before we are married, Sansa. It will not do!”

She searched his face and saw a pleading there and, at last, she felt she might be at the root of the problem. If she had the right of it now, and her heart soared with the belief that she did, what Stannis was telling her was the mere act of that kiss had made it difficult for him to control himself. The man Cercei had claimed could not be seduced had felt himself at risk of taking the woman who would be his wife before time over a simple kiss.

Assuming she now understood, Sansa could not help but ask. “You would rather I believe you regretted my being here?”

Stannis let out a heavy sigh, still uncomfortable with this conversation, but his frustration appearing to lessen. “I thought you occupied with other matters and would not notice.”

For the first time, Sansa understood how intoxicating power over men must feel to women who had so little of any type of power to claim. Yet power was not what she wanted to wield over her betrothed, over her king. She wanted to be privy to his thoughts, to believe he valued her, and most of all, to know he did not regret his choice in wife. It was something she could not say she had yet earned, but it was also something she would not earn by letting him think he could so easily set her aside and she would not notice.

“I will strike you a bargain, My King. I will not make any attempt to kiss you or touch you in any way before the kisses that are part of our wedding ceremony if you will spend but one half of an hour with me alone each evening . . . for conversation.”

Stannis’ scowl returned as he took her proposal with obvious skepticism. “What do you propose we converse on during this half of an hour?”

Trying not smile, Sansa started with a list, “Shireen, my role in the new orphanage, how to stop Lady Daphne from trying to seduce all the man of the King’s Guard, whether the new Lady Massey will be loyal to her husband or her family, Kevan Lannister’s offer of his youngest daughter Jeyne for Rickon and how it will be over my rotting corpse . . . I could go on. I am quite sure I have at least one subject for each day leading up to our wedding.”

For the briefest of moments, Sansa thought she saw his lips move in the direction of a smile, but it was quickly gone. “I accept.”

Sansa kept her smile light while her heart was anything but. It gave her courage as she curtsied and started for the door with him by her side. As he reached for the door, Sansa moved her hand to place it on his, then stopped herself and pulled her hand back. He did not open the door, but turned to face her. “There is one more thing I would have you know, My King” 

“Yes, My Lady?”

She made sure she had his full attention and felt a boldness that was not genuine to her. “On our wedding night . . . do not come into my chamber assuming I am only there to do my duty. I assure you I will not be thinking of duty when you bed me and I would be most gratified if you did not either.”

Stannis held her gaze for a long moment, and she felt a delicious warmth spread through her. He reached forward and opened the door for her, and as she moved beside him to make her exit, Sansa heard him whisper, “Until the morrow, My Lady.”


	14. Chapter 14

King's Landing  
Shireen

The day before her father’s and Sansa’s wedding, her father’s surprise gift to his bride arrived in the form of a ship conveying her half-brother, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Her father, Sansa, Lord and Lady Seaworth, Devan, the other members of the Small Counsel, including her Uncle Axell and the King’s Guard were assembled into the Great Hall where her Uncle Davos, as she privately thought of him, went over the order of events for the next day. Shireen had learned that a ship had been dispatched for the Lord Commander at the same time as the one for White Harbor to bring them to King's Landing. She also knew this morning’s news that his arrival was imminent. Jon Snow had been due to arrive a week earlier, and the reason for the delay was adding to her father’s touchiness. Her father's mood was keenly evident and expected in consideration of his general disdain for the idea of a day of events that pulled him away from the business of the realm. Devan told her an amusing story about her Uncle Davos trying to reason with her father about how a coronation and the wedding of the king were very much part of the business of the realm with little success in changing her father’s view of the process. Devan was careful of the stories he told her of what he either overheard from his father or saw that she was not privy to. He wasn't a gossip, but they often could not help comparing stories of those in their orb. They had each other’s trust that the information would go no further.

The Lord Commander was also bringing with him another present for the future queen; this one was a present from one Stark to another. Shireen had been truly pleased to hear that Sansa would be gifted with a direwolf pup to replace the one so cruelly ordered to its death by her uncle, the late King Robert. Rightfully so, the Lord Commander sought his king’s permission to bring the pup and Shireen had been surprised that her father’s only stipulation had been that the Lord Commander see to the care for the pup until the day after the wedding. She was gratified that, before giving his permission, her father had consulted her about whether she would be disconcerted by the presence of such a large animal. On the contrary, she had immediately become fond of Rickon’s Shaggydog and looked forward to watching a direwolf grow from a pup.

They were about to disperse from the Great Hall when the Lord Commander’s arrival was announced. Her father’s eyes immediately jumped to his bride’s face rather than the entrance to the Hall, causing others to initially focus on her as well. All color seemed to drain from Sansa and she stood like a block of stone. The Lord Commander looked equally shaken as he stood at the entrance and moved no further. Shireen wasn't entirely sure what the protocol was supposed to be in this instance, but no one moved or said another word until Sansa suddenly broke out into a run towards her half-brother who opened his arms to receive her.

While most eyes in the Hall watched the emotion-laden reunion with keen interest, Shireen focused on her father. Had the others observed him in that moment, they would have seen something extremely rare. Despite the normal scowl, King Stannis looked pleased. Decorum was soon restored and the Lord Commander approached and bowed before his king under the gaze of a radiant Sansa. At the worst of times, Sansa was still unquestionably the most beautiful woman Shireen knew. At this moment, her face was so alight, Sansa looked like Shireen imagined the Maiden.

Her father questioned the Lord Commander about his voyage and others looked on. Shireen stepped back and took it all in. She could think of no other reason for her father to request Jon Snow’s presence other than to please Sansa. Perhaps it had been Uncle Davos’ suggestion and her father went along with it, but she rather doubted that was the case. The only explanation was that he genuinely wanted to please his bride, although she was sure his official position was that it was only proper that the queen have some family present at her wedding. It would not have been vocalized that she had no family at her last wedding. Shireen had a fleeting thought that she should somehow be offended for her mother’s sake. She had no memory of such an effort made on her lady mother’s behalf. Whether she should or should not, the thought was replaced by one of curiosity. There was no doubt that Sansa had formed a genuine affection for her father, and had been well on her way there before they arrived in King’s Landing. It seemed, however, that her father was equally enamored of his bride. He would deny it if asked, and do his best not to make it apparent, perhaps even to Sansa, yet Shireen was certain it was so.

The rest of the day was lost to the demands and preparations one would expect the day before events as important as the coronation of a king, as well as his marriage. Sansa and Shireen both had to attend final fittings of the gowns prepared for the day. She was later given an option of supping with the Seaworths or with Sansa and the Lord Commander. Her father, it seemed, planned to work during the evening, claiming it was required to make up for all he would not be able to accomplish the following day. Shireen strongly suspected he did not wish to interfere with the reunion of Sansa and her brother, and she did not wish to either, although both insisted she would be most welcome. Sansa smiled and whispered that she understood why there might be “more interesting company” for her at the Tower of the Hand.

Dinner had been the usually pleasant affair she had always found when with the Seaworth family. Afterward, Devan and she were discretely left alone in a room designated as his mother’s solar. “Are you looking forward to the morrow?” Devan asked as he lit kindling in the fireplace to take the chill off of the room.

Shireen gave a wan smile, “I shall be glad when it is over and we can see what our new life will settle into.”

Devan stood and leaned against the wall. Each day, he looked and sounded more and more like his father. “I have been told I cannot ask you until there is an heir,” then with a grin, he continued, “Therefore, I have great hopes for tomorrow night.”

“As do I,” Shireen agreed, noting that she did not blush when normally, she would have done so at any statement that might allude to bedding or what goes on between a man and his wife. “I have not asked my father what a sister would signify.”

“I have asked my lord father,” Devan shrugged. “His only answer was that it will be whatever the king wishes it to be. He did think that Lady Sansa, as Queen Sansa, would be sensitive to giving the impression that a daughter of hers had more of a right to the throne than you, despite what your wishes may be. I have not asked you recently. Is it possible you have you changed your mind about your wish to not be on the Iron Throne someday?”

“Certainly not!” Shireen replied with such vehemence that it made them both laugh afterward. What she knew that she could not articulate to Devan was that her father was so entrenched in the belief of doing one’s duty, she seriously doubted he would let her abdicate her role as his heir to a sister. Nightly, she prayed to any deity that was listening that Sansa would give her father a son as soon as possible. It wasn't that she wanted to leave them. Indeed, it would be a difficult thing to do. However, she was ready to be Devan’s wife and remove to Cape Wrath. She was ready to be a mother and manage a house as she had learned from Sansa at Winterfell.

Devan moved to sit by her side on the settle and, as she did when they were alone and where they could not be viewed, she leaned into his side and allowed his arms to encircle her. “Married to me, it seems likely you will be the mother of sons,” he whispered in her ear. “All with their mother’s dark hair and their father’s chin.”

“The first one will have to be named Stannis,” she said, giving way to the image of them with sons and feeling so relaxed against his chest. “The second we will name Davos.”

“And then?” Devan’s voice a low growl in her ear that sent shivers through her. “Of course, we will not stop with just two sons.”

Shireen thought briefly of her mother who could produce no more than one child who lived, and willed the thought far away. “There should be a Steffon, but that is the only other name I would desire from their Baratheon ancestry, and it need not be our third son. The rest of this long line of sons can be named for your brothers.”

His lips grazed her ear. “And should there be a miracle of a daughter? Do you wish to name her Selyse?”

Sadly, Shireen did not like her answer. It seemed disloyal and ungrateful, but she would tell Devan the truth all the same. “I believe a daughter would be Cassana. Cassana Seaworth.”

Shireen took in a long breath and closed her eyes when one of Devan’s hands lazily began to stroke her arm. She felt an ache in the lower part of her that was increasingly brought about by Devan when they were like this. “My lady mother will call her Cassie, and that will send your father into quite a fury.”

“If I did not know better, I would say you were trying to seduce me with all this talk of our children, Devan Seaworth.” Shireen sighed, her eyes still closed and enjoying the feel of his fingertips against her skin.

He began making circular motions and his voice was husky, “Could I?”

“Yes,” the purr of her voice was foreign to her, “But you will not do so. We would both prefer you keep your head attached to your body.”

“True,” Devan asserted, the tone of his voice still giving her that unsettling aching. “I merely wish to ascertain, were it only us in this world, whether I _could_ seduce you.”

“Oh yes,” Shireen replied sincerely. Devan moved them so that he was facing her. It wasn't their first kiss, but this was hugely different. Lips parted and tongues danced, making bodies seem to have minds of their own in their urge to meld. Shireen was breathless when his lips left hers. She did not know if Devan had ever bedded another woman and she would never ask. Rickon had once said it was a lord’s duty to know how to be with a woman before he beds the one meant to be his lady wife. Then again, Rickon had little in the way of a governor for what he would say or not say. Still, his words made sense and that one of them might know what to do were there to be a wedding night between them, a first night, she could only view as sensible as long as she never knew whom he had bedded.

“I had better escort you to back to Maegar’s. It is late,” Devan conceded, sitting back again, but only holding her close for a few moments longer before letting her go to stand and extend a hand to help her off of the cushioned settle. Brown eyes looked down into her dark blue ones as she stood, “Know this, my sweet princess . . . one day you will be mine and that was just a foretaste of what is to come.”


	15. Chapter 15

King's Landing  
Sansa

Her first _wedding_ had been a nightmare. The worst of it had been having no choice but to allow Joffrey to stand in place of her father. Sansa had worn a gown with the colors of House Stark, but the gown neither suited her age, nor her person. It had been difficult to make a gown in the same colors that would not be reminiscent of that previous gown, but she was satisfied with the result. This gown was of dove grey silk with silver and white trim and her darker grey cloak was embroidered in silver instead of gold. It was the gown that showed the regal bearing of one becoming a queen, but not extravagant in a time when the realm was recovering and her king had a large debt to repay. Sansa wore one tear-shaped, black sapphire pendant encased in gold with a slender gold chain and earrings of a similar shape and stone, but smaller. Stannis had sent them to her that morning with a note that they were the only jewels he possessed that belonged to his late lady mother. The note told her that it had originally been a present from his lord father and specially made in House Baratheon colors. She found them to be perfect.

Now, she stood with her hand on the arm of a man who was the very image of her father, only younger, walking toward the altars to stand beside a man, a king, that the child Sansa would never have believed herself capable of loving. But love him she did. The day before, they had discussed the need for a total display of neutrality under the watchful eyes of the lords and ladies who had come for both the wedding and coronation. Sansa found it took everything she had not be beam at him when she vowed to Stannis, “With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my king and husband.“ True to her word, Sansa kissed him for the first time since that kiss on the ship.

As for Stannis, he showed no emotion, not even a scowl, during the ceremony. Dressed in pitch black with fine gold-embroidered accents in the shape of stag antlers on each side of his doublet, he spoke clearly and locked eyes with her in an intensity that made her weak in the knees. “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my queen and wife.” His kiss was brief, but his hand strayed to her waist as he did so and his fingers gently swept across her arm as he returned to facing the High Septon. Likewise, tips of his fingers had strayed a little along her neck after he had firmly clasped his cloak around her earlier.

There was a brief respite before the coronation when Stannis changed into his armor where she was left to accept the well wishes, most of which she was sure were not all that sincere, of many of those attending. It was the first time Sansa was able to discern all who were present for the day’s events. Lord Seaworth had, apologetically, advised her that the lack of a minimum of a week’s worth of festivities and a jousting event would keep many from making the trip. Sansa found she was relieved at not having to entertain more than a dozen ladies of Westeros for the week following her wedding, most of who were already here and known to her, and who had ignored her when she was Joffrey’s betrothed prisoner.

Before Jon’s arrival, she had hoped her uncles, Lord Tully and Lord Brynden the Blackfish, would make be able to make the journey and that the Blackfish would be the one to escort her to the altar. They sent her ravens and a gift of gold goblets that they could ill afford. They had recovered Riverrun from the Freys through their change of allegiance to Stannis, but it was the most decimated of the liege houses from the war. Jon being there had beensomething she had thought impossible, not to mention something she did not deserve. He would not hear her apologies the night before for her past behavior towards him and the circumstances of his birth, but he did let her tell him that she wanted him to know that “half” was no longer part of her description of him as her brother.

Sansa was not sure how she felt about Lord Tyrell, Lord Garlan, and Ser Loras being among those attending the wedding and the coronation. The irony of her having once begged to be allowed to marry Lord Tyrell, and yet had to ask who he was when she first laid eyes on him, was not lost on her. Stannis told her that Willas Tyrell was cut from a different cloth than his late father, who had died from a seizure of the heart just before Stannis took King’s Landing. As part of their treat, House Tyrell had made a substantial payment towards the debt to the Iron Bank in Braavos and had forgiven all debts to the crown. The new Lord Lannister, Tywin’s brother Kevan, had not intended to be as generous since, to her amazement, House Lannister was now among the poorest of the noble houses of the realm instead of the richest. Sansa had not asked what inducements Stannis and Lord Seaworth used to change his mind, but she strongly suspected the fact that Tommen still lived, albeit in hiding, and that Lord Lannister’s sons, Lancel and Martyn, were once Stannis’ prisoners and were now returned to Lannisport had much to do with it. She had heard that Ser Jaime had fled to one of the Free Cities, although she had not asked or sought information about the true fates of either Ser Jaime or Lord Tyrion. It was enough to know that Cercei’s head sat on the very same spike her father’s once had for the vultures to feast on after it was extracted from her body by Stannis’ sword.

She was saddened when she learned that the new Lady Massey would not be attending. Stannis and Lord Seaworth still viewed her with an element of distrust, despite having given up her homeland. Sansa hoped, that as their seat was in the Crownlands, she would see Asha again and soon. She was sure Shireen would enjoy a visit from her as well. The women who had been at Winterfell had grown close while surviving the winter together.

The coronation was a quick affair where the same High Septon that had performed their marriage in the Sept of Baelor now put a newly crafted crown on Stannis’ head. Both his and her crowns had been cast from the gold of all the crowns of the previous kings in the War of the Five Kings, except for Joffrey’s crown. Stannis had the gold in that crown melted and made into coin, and then sent out of Westeros to Braavos as part of the debt payment, citing the gold from that crown was far too tainted to stay in the realm in any manner. As the High Septon had put the crown on Stannis’ head, Stannis put the similar, smaller version of his crown on her head as she knelt before him. “Rise Sansa, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and of the Realm.”

Her first private word from her husband came in the form of a whisper after they were seated at the head table for the feast. “It is my hope that you have no wish to prolong our stay at this feast beyond what is absolutely necessary.”

It was all she could do to keep from giggling. “I wish I could believe that your desire to leave this feast was out an eagerness to be with me rather than a strong desire to leave the company of our guests,” she whispered back to him.

Stannis raised an eyebrow, but stared out in front of him rather than looking in her direction. “You would not be wrong with either assessment, Your Grace.”

 _Your Grace_. As she allowed herself to delight in the words she was sure came the closest she imagined Stannis Baratheon would ever get to words of affection, she realized that several had already called her by her new title, but it really did not sink in that she was truly the queen until she heard it from him. Jon joined them at the head table, sitting down on her right after bowing to them both. He too, referred to her as, “Your Grace,” when he asked her if she was content with the day’s proceedings. Jon had arrived at King’s Landing with the belief that Sansa was marrying their king only out of a sense of duty, and had been prepared with speeches and reasons to assure her she was marrying a man of great integrity and worth . . . a man Jon termed an equal to their late father. He appeared much relieved by her insistence that she was going to this wedding willingly and with both knowledge and appreciation of the king she was to marry. Whenever Jon spoke, she was tempted to close her eyes as the sound of his voice allowed her to imagine it was their father speaking to her.

“That I am even here enjoying my wedding and with you by my side after having been betrothed to a monster and previously wedded against my will is nothing short of miraculous.” Sansa replied to her brother, mentally adding that it was more than she deserved since much of her previous misery in King’s Landing had been her own doing.

Lord Seaworth, as one in charge of all of the festivities, had done a magnificent job of seeing to the feast without going into excess. One of the gold goblets from her uncle had been placed before her and when the steward came by with wine, she declined, asking for the same water and lemon preferred by her husband. “If I must maintain an air of impartiality, I will need all my wits about me,” she told Stannis when her request garnered an inquisitive look. Shireen, too, opted for water rather than wine.

“Most will think we are drinking water to avoid Joffrey’s fate,” Sansa added, surveying the crowd.

“Weddings have become . . . “ Stannis started and she knew he didn’t finish because he realized he was about to reference the wedding of her Uncle Edmure when he mother, brother, and a others loyal to Robb were murdered. Instead, he lowered his voice, “It is best to keep a clear head at all occasions where powerful individuals lurk.”

With the possible exception of Shireen and Ser Devan, who were not pleased with being forced to sit at opposite ends of the table from one another to avoid the detection of their regard, guests at the feast seemed to be enjoying themselves. The first drunken remark made loud enough for them to hear at the head table came later than it did in most of these events and was shouted out by Lord Stokeworth. “Our king will have a warm bed this night! I am eager to see if our queen’s hair is as red between her limbs as it is on her head!”

While Sansa found the remark crude, it had no other affect for she had already been assured there would be no bedding ritual. Her immediate concern was the deepened scowl and deathly stare Stannis now cast Lord Stokeworth’s way. Lord Seaworth leaned toward his king and tried to say something to soothe him, but it did not work. “I will first remove the offending appendage, and then the head, of any man who lays a hand on my queen,” Stannis growled, continuing to stare at the drunken lord who was oblivious to how much danger he was presently in.

“But Your Grace,” she said, trying to tease him out of his anger or at a minimum, redirect it, “I have already heard that you have commanded my lord commander brother, Lord Seaworth, and Ser Devan to dance at least once with their queen so that you will not be compelled to do so. It will be difficult for them to obey you if they are under such a threat by the mere act of leading me to the dance.”

His eyes still did not leave the direction of Lord Stokeworth. “Unless you wish it, I see no reason to stay beyond the first dance.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Seaworth interjected. “Your guests may take offense if you leave that soon.”

“I could give a damn what they are offended by,” Stannis hissed, his jaw had clinched but he had stopped short of loud teeth grinding.

Lord Seaworth pursed his lips and took a moment before trying again. “Perhaps if Her Grace only dances with her brother, the Lord Commander, the other lords will not take offense. It should not be with anyone else, Your Grace.”

“That is where you are wrong, Hand,” Stannis sneered. “The queen will dance with her king and then, unless she truly wishes to stay, we will retire.”

If Stannis was aware of the astonishment of both his Hand and his new wife, he didn’t show it. Not once had it occurred to her that he might dance with her or with anyone else . . . ever. She tried to picture it in her mind and could not. Finally, she composed herself enough to answer what really hadn't been a question. “I will be content to retire with you after our dance, Your Grace.”

“Good,” was her husband's only reply.


	16. Chapter 16

King's Landing  
Stannis

Stannis tried not to be insulted that his wife and his Hand seemed to think he could not do something as simple as lead a dance at his wedding. Was he not of House Baratheon? Had he not had the proper tutors who taught all that was expected for the son of a liege house, including how to lead his lady in a dance? True, he had said that he wanted to ensure others danced with Sansa. He would not dance more than once to be sure, but she was young and probably enjoyed the activity. That said, he knew he did not want to see her dancing with every lord at the feast. It wasn’t until he saw several lords eyeing her in that salacious, avaricious manner he had oft seen of Robert when he was in the company of a beautiful woman that Stannis decided the best course of action was the leave the feast before he ran one of them through.

When the musicians had finished warming up, the signal was given that they were ready to commence. The song “My Lady Wife” began and Stannis stood, offering a hand to his bride. Sansa’s deep blue eyes were wide as she took his hand and stood to follow him to wooden pallet constructed for dancing. Stannis couldn’t tell if she was afraid of being embarrassed or merely amused.

Her hand was soft in his; long, smooth long fingers wound around his palm . . . _would this beautiful creature really be his in the matter of an hour or so?_ Once they were on the pallet, they stood their mutual arm’s length apart before he bowed and she lowered into yet another of her perfect curtsies while their hands remained joined. As soon as she was upright again, they both began the dance by performing a single turn right-hand turn, cross and take two steps to cast down before being joined by the Lord Commander and Shireen in the dance. Soon, they were joined by other couples including Lord and Lady Seaworth. If one wanted amusement, all one had to do was watch Davos try to dance! In one of the turns, Sansa cast shining eyes up at him. “You absolutely amaze me, Your Grace,” she whispered.

The full of the dance lasted for half of an hour and his Hand motioned for the musicians to delay the next song. This was Stannis’ cue. “Lords and ladies, the Queen and I take our leave of you and wish you to enjoy the rest of the feast. I will meet with all the lords here present tomorrow afternoon in the Great Hall.”

There were a series of jeers and groans, although Stannis was fair certain no one had expected him to permit the bedding ritual. His reputation for not allowing such frivolity was well known and purposely fostered. Sansa laid her hand on his arm, and he escorted her from the Great Hall. It had already been arranged that her brother, the Lord Commander, would take her from there to the door of the Queen’s Apartments where she would find her chief handmaid waiting to assist her in the removal of her wedding gown whatever other preparation was required. The handmaid would advise one of his guards as she left the Queen’s Apartments, at which time he would receive a knock on his bedchamber door. He fought battles with less strategic planning than making their exit and beginning the consummation of this marriage.

Stannis had never been comfortable having a squire help him dress on undress beyond pulling off his boots. Young Steffon Seaworth was poking at air with an imaginary sword when he entered his bedchamber. The lad immediately stopped and stood stone still first, and then remembered himself and bowed. Stannis nodded in acknowledgement and wordlessly sat on the chair next to the bed. As the boy pulled off his boots, he allowed himself to imagine a son . . . would he be made in his image? Or, would he be a dark-haired version of Ned Stark? Would he possible end up taking on the resemblance of his father or one of his brothers? Would he instead have another daughter; this one being a raven-haired version of her mother?

When the youngest Seaworth was finished with his task, he again bowed and made a hasty exit. Stannis took his time undressing. Another job for a squire was to fold clothes and put them away. Instead, he preferred to fold them himself as it was a matter of discipline. However, he always left them out for the squire to see to either putting up or taking to the laundries on the morrow. He put on a freshly laundered under-tunic and left it at that before donning a black and gold robe. Sitting on the bed, he waited, at first patiently, until over a half of an hour passed.

Stannis was uncertain about what to do next. Something had gone amiss in the plan. Perhaps the handmaid had made her way out of the Queen’s Apartments without alerting Ser Horte that her lady was ready. That left him with two options, either consult Ser Horte and have him knock on the outer door of the Queen’s Apartments or go the door directly to her bedchamber and knock himself.

He waited another few minutes, not really watching the candle burn to see how long, but certainly as long as he was willing to wait, before he entered the anteroom that connected their bedchambers. Taking in a deep breath and then letting it out, Stannis knocked on the door. There was no answer. Stannis tried again. Still there was no answer.

Opening the door, his eyes immediately went to the vacant down-turned bed. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end when he beheld the overturned bedtable and saw a still smoking candle that had been snuffed out. Stannis quickly scanned the rest of the room. The fireplace held a strong fire, which was illuminating the room. A night-gown was folded on a chair near the end of the bed, but her slippers were in the middle of the floor. Besides her person, her crown was not to be seen. If Sansa had left of her own accord, she had too much integrity to take the crown with her. His bride . . . his queen . . . had been taken.

“GUARDS!” he heard himself shout with a volume usually reserved for battle. “GUARDS!”


	17. Chapter 17

King’s Landing  
Sansa

She recovered from fainting to find herself looking face down at a dark stone floor while being carried over a broad set of shoulders she knew all too well. Sansa had left Jon and gone into the Queen’s Apartments to find her handmaid, Alys, awaiting her. No sooner had they moved into the bedchamber of the apartments when they heard a sound like something had fallen. Alys went back into the adjoining solar while she removed her slippers, certain it was nothing more than an ornament of some sort having fallen off the shelf. A far more substantial thud caused her to drop her slippers on the floor and, instinctively, moved toward the bedside table, looking for a possible weapon. A large, hooded figure in the robes of a monk came into the bedroom. Sansa was trying to process if a monk would truly be there to cause her harm when he pushed the hood back from his head. The room suddenly began to spin and she saw one she thought might be a ghost lunge toward her as she fell, taking the bedside table with her.

Sansa had no idea how long she had been unconscious or where they were. “Sandor!” she called out, the bouncing against his back making her feel like she might faint again. “You must stop and put me down!”

The man she had once thought of as her protector, and who she believed to be dead, sat her feet on the floor and stood over her, the torch in his hand illuminating his scarred face. It was certainly him, yet he was much changed. What had not killed him had decidedly aged him. However, the voice and manner were very much as she remembered when she heard him rasp, “Bugger all! I didn't realize you don’t have anything on your feet!”

She could not deny that she was most grateful he was alive or that she had thought about him often, but time was of the essence. “Why are you here? What _are_ you about in taking me from my wedding night!”

His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed, “What in the Seven Hells does it look like I’m about, Little Bird? I’m saving you from all this and getting you the hells out of here!”

Sandor started to move forward again, but stopped when he realized she wasn't following. “There is a ship that can take us to Braavos,” he hissed in an attempt to keep his voice down. “You need not worry about me harming you. I’m taking you to your sister.”

“My sister!”

“Shhhhhhhhh!” Sandor moved a few steps back towards her. “Yes, your sister, Arya. A hellcat if ever there was one. “

Sansa took the few steps that placed her in front of him where she reached out and touched his arm as if that somehow would make what he had just told her more real. “You have seen her?”

“I can tell about her after we get out of these tunnels,” he rasped, trying to propel her forward.

“Where are we?”

“Underneath the Red Keep. We can make our way to the docks under here if we hurry.”

Sansa wouldn't budge. “I cannot go with you, Sandor; I will not. I am married.”

It seemed to her that the skin on his face that was not burned had turned crimson and the scars were almost white in his anger, “You can’t marry a buggering block of stone!”

Tears welled in her eyes. Sansa did not know what to do! Of course, she wanted to go back to Stannis and explain, but he wasn’t a man whose wife had gone missing only to be found in another part of his keep. He was the King and as such, any man who took his wife, his Queen, would be put to death. Even if he did not wish it so, it had to be. A King could not let it appear as though it were possible to take his wife from him by any means at any time. Sansa didn't want Sandor's death as a result of this misguided attempt at freeing her from something, _someone_ she had no wish to be free of. Along with this, to find out that Arya was alive and that, somehow, Sandor could take her to her sister. Sansa trusted that he was not lying to her insofar as he might believe the truth to be. Perhaps he was relying on rumors.

Adamantly, Sansa resisted the pressure he placed on her arm to induce her to keep going. “Have you seen Arya since you left that night or have you not? Do you know . . . without question . . . that my sister is alive?”

“Yes!” came the exasperated rasp. “Bloody. Fucking. Yes!”

It was odd how his cursing seemed to reassure her that he truly had laid eyes on her sister. “Did you take her to Braavos?”

“It was where she was headed when she left me to die.”

Sansa continued to stare at him with watery eyes; he should know she had to know more. Heaving a deep sigh and looking around him, Sandor continued, one hand on the hilt of his sword at his side and the other still holding the torch. “I found her with the Brotherhood without Banners. Tried to take her to Riverrun, but it was too late. I can get you to Braavos and we can find her. I will not harm you, Little Bird.”

“I know you would never harm me,” Sansa murmured, finally letting the tears flow. “But I cannot . . . I will not go with you. Even for Arya. Not only because I want to stay with Stannis, but because the cost is too great.”


	18. Chapter 18

King’s Landing  
Stannis

Ser Richard Horpe had discretely removed Davos from the feast and brought him back to the Queen’s Apartments in Maegar’s Holdfast while all the rest of the King’s Guard, except Ser Rolland, were dispersed on Stannis’ orders to look for Sansa. Ser Richard found the handmaid in the solar just gaining consciousness when he ran in. Tearfully, she told both the guard and her king about hearing a noise and retreating to the solar to see to it. She reported that she was picking up the fallen candlestick when she saw a monk dressed in black robes with his face covered by a hood come out of a shadow just before being hit on the head. By what, she was not sure. Of one thing the handmaid was insistent. She was certain that her queen had no knowledge of what was going on beforehand.

Stannis returned to his bedchamber to quickly redress, white hot rage causing his hands to shake when he buttoned his doublet. How could she be taken while he was in a room so close to her? Among the many things that had him perplexed where how her abductor could have gotten away with her and not be seen by Ser Richard waiting in the hallway? The poxed warrior insisted that no one left by the door. _No one left by the door._ There was no way to exit out a window and scale the exterior wall without being seen by the sentries, much less done so with the queen in tow. If she went willingly, she still would have been recognized unless she, too, donned a robe that hid her face. Even then, the men guarding the perimeter of the keep would have attempted to verify someone making haste to leave or who could not plainly be seen. _No one left by the door._ Those words kept repeating in his head over and over again. 

Buckling his scabbard around his hips, Stannis picked up his great sword and sheathed it. He had said earlier that he would cut off the head of anyone who dared lay a hand on her this night and he meant to do just that. Upon his return to the Queen’s bedchamber, Davos was there giving orders with men coming and going. “Your Grace, we will find her,” he insisted vehemently. “And whoever dared do this will pay the supreme penalty for this offense.”

Stannis realized he was grinding his teeth to such an extreme, they were likely to be nothing more than powder should he open his mouth. He needed to clear his head. He needed to act.

“Men are keeping watch over those at the feast, who for now, seem content to stay and have no knowledge of what has transpired. I have increased the quantity of wine and food, and paid the musicians to play double the usual time originally planned.” Davos continued, updating his king on the actions of the last few minutes. “I have also ordered men to the docks and out to patrol all roads. No ship will leave without being boarded and thoroughly inspected.”

“No ship will leave until she is found!” Stannis ground out and watched as Davos gave another order and another man went running to do as he was bid. “Is it possible this is the next move by the Targaryen girl?” Stannis asked harshly, although not expecting an answer as much as using saying the thought aloud to help ponder it. He had never had this much trouble maintaining focus and stop his thoughts from racing so he could think strategically. “They would know every inch of this keep, top to bott . . . top . . . to . . . bottom . . .” Stannis looked up at Davos, jaw clenched. “We know there are tunnels under the Hand’s Tower. It is just as possible there are tunnels underneath where we stand.”

Davos considered the idea. “Your Grace, we mapped out all the tunnels.”

“All the tunnels that connected from the entrance we found in the tower,” he agreed, running his palm across his high forehead in frustration and beginning to pace again. “There could be another series of tunnels that do not interconnect.”

“There would have to be an entrance here in the Queen’s Apartments for such to be used gain access here and exit as well without being seen,” Davos answered quickly, and without another word, he, Davos, and even the handmaid began pulling, pushing, and picking up every item that would move, as well as pushing against walls in search of a possible entrance.


	19. Chapter 19

King’s Landing  
Sansa

“Oh Sandor! If I had not lost consciousness when I saw you . . . when I thought I was seeing a ghost, . . . I could have told you that I was here because I wanted to be here,” Sansa said sniffling, using the linen that had been discreetly tucked in her sleeve that morning to blot the tears running down her face. “I would not have gone with you and you could have left the way you came with no one being the wiser.”

Sandor stood over her, looking at her as if she had lost her wits. “Aren't you tired of being the fucking sacrifice in the game for that bloody Iron Throne? I hope you haven’t convinced yourself that Stannis Baratheon will think of you as anything other than what brought him allegiance from the North.”

She continued to wipe her eyes, unable to stop her tears. “The North was already allied with him. I was not part of the treat. He gave me the choice. Sandor, I won’t lie to him. You need to leave . . . you need to run from here as fast as you can. I will not lie to him, but I don’t want to see you caught either!”

“He may be the best the bloody, fuckin’ realm could hope for among the nobles for a king, but with Stannis, you will be . . . damnit Little Bird . . . the most you will see of him is the five minutes he crawls on you in an attempt to put an heir in your belly and the crawls off.” Sandor Clegane barked with a harsh rasp. “Fucking hells . . . is that why you’re here? You deliberately married someone who will leave you the hell alone?”

“No!” Sansa wailed miserably, falling to her knees on the stone floor. “I love him and I wish to be his wife! Please leave, Sandor . . . now! Please.”

Sandor let out a heavy sigh and he no longer tried to keep the volume of his voice lowered. “I wanted you to have a choice, Little Bird. I should never have left you in this hellhole alone before. I thought the King would win that night despite all that fucking fire. I thought he’d ransom you to your brother in exchange for his giving up his claim. Leaving you in the Lion’s den is the only thing in my shit life that I truly regret. Now that I’ve heard you were given a choice and made it, I can be at peace.”

“Then run!” Sansa implored him. “Stannis may not want me after this as I will be honest and tell him I wanted you to escape. I owe it to you for what you did do for me. You saved my life more than once and you saved my sanity. I owe you thus much. Please go!”

From behind her, Sansa heard the voice of her husband. “The Hound knows it is useless, Your Grace.”

Sansa snapped around from where she knelt on the floor and saw the only other person Stannis had with him was Lord Seaworth. She had seen Sandor kill five men at a time without exerting a sweat and while she had heard that Stannis was a brave and skilled fighter, she was now terrified of what would happen next. A noise from in front of her made her turn to face Sandor again, ready to beg him to put his sword down when she saw that he was kneeling.

“Fortunately, your sobs masked our arrival despite the echo in this wretched place, although I believe he either heard or saw the light of our torch about the time he stopped berating my person,” Stannis continued and although he addressed her, fierce eyes and drawn greatsword were pointed squarely at Sandor Clegane. 

Sansa wanted to stand and run into Stannis' arms, but she was not the least sure he wanted her there. Indeed, he would never allow such a display in sight of an audience. Despite her wish to return to her husband, her tears ran unchecked for she knew Sandor Clegane would die on the morrow, if not this night. She had mourned him once and would do so again.

Carrying another torch, they were joined by her brother, Jon. He, too, had his sword drawn yet had no other men with him. Jon surveyed the scene around him and then sheathed his sword and approached her. “Are you all right?”

“He would never hurt me, Jon.” she mumbled, taking the hand he held out to assist her in rising. Tearfully, she hazarded a glance at her husband, who had yet to take his eyes off of Sandor. Lord Seaworth, sword outstretched, now approached Sandor and removed his sword and dagger. Sander made no attempt to stop him.

“I beg of you, Your Grace,” Sandor’s voice was as humble as she had ever heard it. “Do not let her see this, nor the aftermath. Her Grace fainted at the sight of me. She did not leave with me of her own accord.”

Stannis still continued to glare at Sandor, who showed only resignation. “Lord Commander, take your sister back above ground to her chamber and see Ser Richard,” Stannis commanded, “Tell him to call off the search. Once the Queen is safely returned and guards are in place, join us back here.”

Sansa took one last look at the Hound, at the man that she knew had cared for her . . . had loved her . . . and for who there would always be a place in her heart. That he would die at the hands of the man who had the largest part of her heart filled her with anguish. “There is peace in this, Little Bird,” he rasped as softly as she thought possible for him.

She turned and walked back through the eerie tunnels with Jon in silence, the stone floor hurting her bare feet, but not wanting to make it known. Once they reached a steep staircase that she could only assume she had been brought down while still thrown over Sandor's shoulder, Jon stopped and she halted with him. "I can guess why Clegane did this and am glad he told King Stannis you had nothing to do with fleeing with him. But I do not understand your bond with this man."

"More than once, Sandor Clegane saved me from the worst of Joffrey's monstrous actions." 

Jon asked no more and Sansa could only guess at how much he understood. "The King cannot spare him. It would show a weakness no king can afford."

Sansa bit her lip to, unsure if she could keep the tears from returning. "I know, Jon." She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to regain her composure. "I know." 

They began to ascend the staircase when Sansa stopped, realizing there was something she had not yet told Jon. "Sandor says that he was with Arya. He said he had been trying to ransom her to Robb and my lady mother, but . . . he believes she may have journeyed to Braavos since she could not have thought she could return to Winterfell. Indeed, that was Sandor's plan . . . that we go to Braavos in search of her."

Jon considered this new development carefully before responding. "The Hound could have made it up to try to induce you to go with him."

"No, Jon. He would not lie to me about such unless he was truly trying to induce me to leave because he thought my life in danger with Stannis. I believe him, although I also believe he does not know for sure where she went after she thought him dead." 

Sansa knew that she _wanted_ to believe and that Jon would as well. "I am not sure what we do with this information for the present," Jon finally said. "We must remember that no one has been able to successful prove she is anything other than alive." 

They looked at one another for a moment and then continued to ascend the staircase. Going through an entryway at the top of the staircase, Sansa was surprised to find she was in her bedchamber with the large chifferobe that had once been against the wall pushed aside. "You cannot stay here tonight. The king gave instructions before he entered the tunnels with Lord Seaworth that, if you were found there, you were to be taken to his apartments." It made sense that she could not stay in her own bedchamber when it was the only known access to the tunnel for the present. Jon further led her through the door into a small room that was no more than a wide hallway adjoining another room that she realized, once inside, was Stannis' bechamber. Her handmaid was waiting for her there. 

"I will tell the King what you were told of Arya once . . . " Jon gave her a long, sympathetic look and then kissed her cheek before leaving her to her handmaid. She was barely able to assist the girl, as she usually did, allowing her to remove her wedding gown and brush her hair while staring blankly at the looking glass, but not seeing.

The handmaid began to chatter, reminding her that this was her wedding night and the King was now not only a great warrior, but as a romantic hero of old. Sansa let her prattle. Despite being in his bedchamber, Stannis would not come to her this night, of that she was certain. What the future was beyond that, she did not know.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for rewriting the end of the previous chapter hours after posting - I realized I had a major anachronism and missing element. So, if you read Chapter 19 before 4/5/2015, 8:00 am Eastern, there is a rewrite to the last part involving Sansa's return with Jon. Also apologize up front because I'll be shocked if I get the next chapter right without several anachronisms!

King's Landing  
Stannis

Stealth was something Stannis had learned from his Hand, and he was often able to come upon others who, if not looking in his direction, did not know he was there. It was just so now as Sansa sat on a bench near the great oak in the Godswood of the old gods. Her eyes were still swollen from last night’s tears, which he doubted stopped upon her return to the apartments in Maegar’s Holdfast. Leaving her alone had not aided the situation, yet it could not be helped. He could not involve more than whom were already involved in the previous night’s farce. He had been able to hear her sobs the moment he and Davos entered the tunnels and they had only to travel a short distance before he could make out both her voice and the voice of her abductor . . . the very unique voice that told him exactly who her abductor was. Stannis also heard her tell the Hound that she had married him because she loved him, but for what the former Lannister dog had done for her in the past, she wanted the Hound to leave before he could be discovered. It was at that point that Stannis knew this would not be as simple as executing one who dared take his queen. Sansa wore guilt like other noblewomen wore gowns, and he did not wish to add to the burdens she had yet to let go of. Once again, he realized his wedding night had been cursed. Only this time, he meant to see that it did not curse more than one or two nights. 

Having Ser Rolland stay far enough away that he could see them, but not hear them speak, Stannis made enough noise in furthering his approach for her to realize he was there. What happened next, he had not expected. Sansa left the bench so fast, he at first thought she meant to flee from him in fear. Instead of fleeing, she ran toward him and threw herself at his feet. “Your Grace!” Sansa began, head lowered but her voice clear, “I ask your forgiveness. I will not play false and tell you that I do not wish with all my heart that I had not fainted so I could have told Sandor to leave or, barring that, that he would have run and left me to find my way back. I am convinced he saved my life many times, so I wanted no harm to come to him. But I know . . . I know that you had to . . . “

She could go no further and he did not want her to. Stannis bent down and placed his hands underneath her arms and pulled her up until they were both standing. Looking into her eyes, he hoped he was not scowling; he didn’t feel like he was, but was often unaware of it. “Let us sit down. I have much to tell you and you need to listen carefully.”

They both occupied the bench in front of the great oak, both sitting sideways so they were able to look at one another. Stannis kept his voice as low as possible, encouraging her to lean towards him to hear. Ser Rolland was not one in the know and while he was fair certain the Godswood was uninhabited by anyone but them, he still did not to wish to chance being overheard. “Sandor Clegane is still alive and will not die by my hand or by my decree this day, or any other unless he commits some other offense.”

While she made no response, Sansa’s eyes widened in a silent plea for him to continue. “Make no mistake, I wanted to kill him where he knelt. Yet, my Hand and I heard you say that you owed your life to him and, as your husband, it was my duty to repay that debt just as it is my duty to dispense justice for his treason against his king.” Stannis paused to let his words catch hold.

“It was not as simple as pardoning him. Once my men had been dispersed in search of you, there was no hope of keeping your abduction undisclosed. Any such action had to see been to be swiftly resolved and swiftly punished.”

She still did not say a word, but neither did her eyes leave his face. “Ser Richard took the Hound to the dungeons of the keep, but, upon my orders, said that he was not to be mistreated as it was not yet determined whether he had committed an offense. Ser Richard then joined myself, my Lord Hand, Ser Devan, and the Lord Commander in the planning chamber. A plot was formed that could only work if, as Davos suspected, he could find the body of some wretch who had died in an alley of Flea Bottom who could be dressed in the Hounds robes. If I believed in any gods, I would have said they were on our side for he and Ser Devan found one early this morning. The wretch appears to have either died of the drink of at something in his bit o’brown making him fatally ill. He was of a size where the robes did not look overly large on him and Ser Devan was given the regrettable task of cleaning him up and shearing his hair so that he might not be as recognizable should one from Flea Bottom observe too closely. As I would not let anyone else do this piece of duplicitousness, I ran a sword into his chest and then extracted his head. It now sits on a spike atop the keep.”

While he hated that there had been any need to concoct this scheme, Stannis hated this part of their farce the most. Whoever this man from Flea Bottom had been, his sins probably did not deserve being branded for treason and his head on a spike. Stannis also knew that, as king, this would not be the last time he had to be part of some intrigue such as this, nor would it be the worst of them. Sansa seemed to sense the cost to his dignity and placed a gentle hand on his arm, which he stared at for a long moment before resuming.

“The story is this. You were abducted by a priest of R’hllor dressed as a monk who wished to punish me for my having renounced my faith in his god. The Hound was newly arrived in King’s Landing and hoped to see me as he had information, which we will not share at the present time or until your sister is found, and to swear fealty. He recognized you and realized you were being forced upon a ship against your will, and he ran your captor through. There is a bit more to this than your not wishing the Hound dead. It is for the safety of those in the Red Keep that these newly discovered tunnels be kept secret from all who do not already know of them. At this moment, they are known to us, Lord Davos, Ser Devan, your brother, Ser Richard Horpe, and your handmaid. Chastise me as you might, but your handmaid was threatened rather extensively with what would happen if she ever spoke of those tunnels.”

For the first time since he told her he had not killed Clegane or had him killed, Sansa spoke. “I do not believe she will say anything. Marya said Lord Seaworth vetted all my handmaids with consideration, among other virtues, that they not be gossips.”

“Let us hope you are right. I need you to pay attention, Sansa, because you need to memorize this and think of this as what really happened. You may tell others you do not wish to speak of last night; in fact, if you would allow me to order you to do such, I wish it so. Still, you will need to know and long remember this story.”

Sansa nodded. “I can remember and I will obey your order to not speak of it.”

“Very well. Since my men were out looking for you, we cannot have it that the Hound made it all the way from the docks to the Red Keep without being discovered. That would make others believe they are inept and it would be an insult to my men. The story is that Ser Richard found you with the Hound and that is why he was put in the dungeons last night until I could find out the full of what happened.”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed in thought. “How do you explain my abductor getting into my bedchamber and how did he get me out of the Red Keep?”

“That it is assumed he made his way in in the excitement of the wedding and the coronation, and lay in wait for the right moment. I will show the proper amount of ire when speaking of the Hound killing your abductor before he could be questioned and all things answered. It is the weakest part of this tale, but it is supported by the mess made of your bedchamber while we were searching for an opening to the tunnel. Instead, it will be said that we were searching for indications to how it was accomplished.” With a bit of irony, Stannis added, “There are also the mystical elements of the R’hllor priests and priestesses that can be brought to bear, if required to aid this fable.”

Stannis waited to see if she would ask, but she did not. Indeed, the way those Tully blue eyes shone at him, it made his disdain for putting the head of a man already dead on a spike for a crime he did not commit less of a blow to his sense of justice. “I will not let the Hound leave here freely, Sansa. He did not come here to bend the knee to me, but to take my queen from me. Make no mistake about it; it should be his head on that spike. However, for his past deeds on your behalf and so that you do not have his death on your conscience, he will return with your brother to Castle Black, take the vow, and fight with them against the wights.”

After he ended that last part of the story, the part where the Hound would meet with punishment that could meet his death, Stannis watched her carefully to gauge her reaction. If this, too, were to weigh on her conscience, he could not help her. Stannis did not have to wait long. “Whenever Sandor’s life comes to an end, he would prefer it be in a battle. He will be an asset to Jon and his brothers at the Wall, of that I am sure.”

Satisfied, Stannis stood and extended a hand to her, pulling her up to join him. “This day, you may be required to be seen by those lords and ladies still present in King’s Landing. For this occasion, you will need show them smiles and a bride happy to be by the side of her king and husband. There will be time for neutrality in the future.”

“That will not be difficult,” she assured him. Sansa’s cheeks then reddened and she pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth before stopping herself. “Tonight . . . “

When she didn’t finish, he probed, “Are you asking a question?” Stannis was unwilling to assume.

It only made her blush deeper, but she emboldened herself to take back the hand that had helped her up and hold it in her two hands. “Are you coming to me tonight?”

“Yes, My Lady.” Stannis said firmly. “Yes.”


	21. Chapter 21

King’s Landing  
Sansa

From every quarter imaginable and in ways both subtle and not the least bit subtle, Sansa had been warned that she should not expect much from her husband in their bed. It occurred to her that Stannis himself had warned her, that it is what he was referring to when he wrote in one of his ravens he had not been a good husband and did not know what he would do to change the matter this time. At least he had some experience with what was ahead of them this night. Sansa only had dreams mixed with a touch of anxiety over what she had heard about pain and awkwardness. She was fairly certain that Stannis, who she could never imagine feared anything or anyone, had similar apprehensions of his own. If he had not heard the comments of others speculating that he would not have a talent for pleasuring his wife, he plainly let it be known that he heard what Sandor Clegane had said on the subject.

Not having anything else to distract her that morning, Sansa found she had a great deal of time to think about what was ahead. Shireen and Marya Seaworth had both been to visit her, but had both been told that she needed rest after the ordeal of the previous night so they were insistent that they were only there to see to her welfare and leave her to the rest she really didn't want. What comments that were made about the night before made it obvious they had been told the story Stannis had told her in the Godswood and accepted it.

Jon was also a visitor in the early evening and her companion at supper, along with Shireen and Ser Devan. Stannis sent word that he would meet with Lord Tyrell and Lord Lannister, along with the members of the Small Counsel through supper. During their brief time alone before being joined by their other companions for supper, Jon and she talked as much as they dared for fear of being overheard about the new addition to the Night’s Watch and the previous night.

One comment her brother made her fear she would give birth to fresh tears but for an entirely different reason. “I did not know until last night the depth of the King’s regard for you, Sansa,” Jon told her bent close to her, voice lowered to a whisper. “I do not think Lord Seaworth did either, although if anyone knew the King’s mind, it would be him. It would be difficult for any man of reason, and the King is certainly that, to not see your worth and consider himself fortunate, yet I do not think you appreciate how unusual every man present found what unfolded.“

“I appreciate the efforts of every one of whom you speak, but most particularly my king’s,” she replied, forcing herself to temper her emotions. She asked, also in a hushed tone, about how they might discover Arya. Jon relayed that Stannis had said that he would send Ser Devan, in whom he trusted, to make the next payment to the Iron Bank and give him time there to discover her.

Supper had been a pleasant affair, or as much of one as a young maid awaiting the wedding night she did not have when she should could be. Her handmaid requested admittance just after the last course had ended and requested a private word. Sansa was told the king had concluded his business for the day; she did not need to be told more and her guests seemed to realize what had just transpired for they all began to make their excuses for why they should leave earlier than one might after being a guest for supper. She bid Jon goodbye with a long embrace and told him outside of the hearing of Shireen and Ser Devan that Sandor would give him no end of frustration and aggravation, but that he could not have a better fighter on his side.

Soon, she was by herself, sitting primly on the featherbed, awaiting her husband. Sansa felt a rush of panic when she heard the rap on the door and her timorous voice bid him to enter. She wanted to sound and appear confident, so that he too would be confident that she wanted him with her; wanted this.

“I cannot promise there will not be pain,” Stannis said with a deep intake of breath as he sat next to her on the featherbed covered in soft, white linen. “I wish otherwise, but cannot make it so.”

Sansa moved sideways so he could see her face and smiled at him, “I have been assured it will be of short duration and, if not this night, in nights to come, it will be replaced by feelings of pleasure.”

Stannis’ jaw began to clinch and he would not look at her. “I regret I cannot promise that either.”

There it was. She had been right to assume he, too, was anxious and what he was particularly anxious about. “We cannot measure how this night will go based on what others say or what you had with the late queen. What will be between the two of us, together, will be of our own making and will be the work of many nights, not just this one.”

This got his attention, although the teeth grinding had started. “Willing something does not always make it so, Sansa.”

“Perhaps not, but it is a good start,” she countered, thinking that she could imagine little that did not bend to the will of Stannis Baratheon. She tugged at her lower lip in thought and then stopped when she realized he might read it as an act of trepidation on her part. “When you see me, is there . . . do you have a desire to touch me?”

“Of course.” The look her gave her was one that implied the question was ridiculous, but the teeth grinding had stopped in its wake.

Undeterred, Sansa asked her next question in a tone barely above a whisper. “What do you most want to touch?”

“Your hair,” Stannis supplied quickly. His dark blue eyes focused on her hair as it flowed down the sides of her face and down around her breasts.

Reaching for his hand and patiently waiting for him to allow her to move it, Sansa brought it up to her hair just beside her cheek. His fingers instantly splayed into its thickness and she was found the feel of his fingers against her scalp sent a flood of sensations through her that seemed to concentrate in one specific lower region. His fingers gently pulled through her hair and returned back to her scalp where, this time, he rubbed the strands of her hair between his fingers while his eyes moved from her face to watch his hands.

“And I,” she began timidly, “I was first drawn to the broadness of your shoulders.” Sansa did not wait to be invited. She inched closer to him and laid her head down sideways on the shoulder closest to her, noting his hands again splayed back into her hair as she moved toward him.

They sat there for a long moment with her head resting on his shoulder and his hand running slowly, and seductively, through her hair. It occurred to her that he might not derive as much pleasure from her head merely resting on him as she was from the soothing, yet unsettling feeling brought on by the rhythmic motion of his hand along her head and neck.

With her voice taking on a lower, almost hoarse tone that was foreign to her ears, she asked, “Is there anywhere you would like me to touch you?” casting her eyes upwards to his face.

In the light from the fireplace, she could see an eyebrow raise upwards and thought perhaps her question had either been too forward or utterly ridiculous. Either way, it was too late to take it back. Her answer came as he moved his face towards hers and touched her lips with the firmness of his. At first, that’s all it was . . . lips touching. Then, his lips moved against hers, placing soft, lingering kisses on and around her mouth. Her reaction was to wind one arm around his neck. She opened her mouth to tell him how nice it was, but the second her lips parted, his tongue entered her mouth in exploration and something she had found unappealing when attempted by Petyr Baelish and others turned out to be quite the contrary when accomplished by her husband. Sansa found herself repositioning in order to press closer against him and her tongue met his as if dancing together.

They both slid backwards in unison until they could fully recline on the down-turned featherbed. She fumbled until she found his hand now along her hip and brought it up to just below her breast as if he had asked her a similar question about where she wanted to be touched. This was greeted with a groan that she would have stopped to consider whether it signified a good thing or a bad were it not for his kisses keeping her otherwise occupied. His mouth now trailed down to her neck as his hand stroked the proffered breast through her gown. The room suddenly became far too warm and she realized that the moaning sound she was now hearing came from her own lips.

“Stannis!” she cried out when he found an extremely sensitive spot on her neck. He stopped immediately and sat up, letting go of her.

That was not her intent at all. The idea of him crawling on top of her as it was once put was increasingly desirable, yet she didn’t know how to ask. Instead, she slowly sat up and slid off the bed, her eyes training in on his and wondering if it was the darkness or something else that made them seem so much darker and more intense. She held that intense gaze while she nervously grabbed for the fabric of the thin gown on each side of her and made to lift it over her head. The effort got a sharp intake of breath from him and then Stannis, too, stood and removed both his robe and undertunic.

Sansa took in the sight of her husband’s bare form; the broad shoulders; a chest that was both muscular and thin of fat, while covered with dark hair along the top that then thinned towards his belly and revealed several jagged, whitish lines she could only assume were battle scars; powerful limbs; and last, but not least, the physical evidence that he was not the least bit indifferent to her. Stannis wordlessly reached for her and pulled her to him. Smooth skin against hair-roughened skin made her want to melt into him and she tilted her head up inviting his mouth to hers once more. Instinctively, she ground against him and heard him groan again, deciding this must be a good thing since his next move was to urge her with him back to the featherbed.

This time, they made the attempt to lay long-ways instead of sideways on the bed. Rather than get on top of her, he pulled her atop him ensuring their most intimate areas were properly aligned although she made an effort to straddle his member for fear of injuring him and when she brought her legs together around him, he bucked against her and she found herself doing the same in response. Sansa caught on quickly that her body was doing things of their own accord and his must be, as well.

She began to rock against him and she was well aware that the sound she made when he moved her off him and put them side by side was a groan of protest instead of a moan of pleasure. His lips moved to her ear has he hovered over her left side. “We must proceed slower,” he instructed in a growled whisper. “It has been a long time and I cannot last as long as we would both wish.”

Sansa really had no idea what he meant. “What would you have me do?” she asked, wanting to please him but also wanting a return of the feeling that was welling up as she had moved against him.

“Nothing as yet,” he answered, his lips still over her ear, kissing it and nuzzling her hair as he spoke, “except to advise me when something is not to your liking or brings pain.”

His fingertips ran along her outer thigh, along her hipbone, and then across her waist until his hand stopped at the breast along her left side. His thumb made circular motions and Sansa began to squirm. Her body moved of its own accord, and she made an obvious effort to stiffen in order to stop. “No!” Stannis hissed and then repeated in a softer tone, “No. I do not mean for you to resist it. The only request I have is that you avoid touching that part of me for the present.” She was not so naive that she had to ask what part he was referring to.

Stannis began his ministrations afresh, and squirm was too light a word for the way her body reacted when he took her other breast in his mouth and began flicking his tongue against that nipple while still rolling the other with his thumb. Her hands gripped the featherbed tightly as she fought to keep from crying out when one of his legs moved over top of her and rubbed an area that she realized was painfully sensitive. She did not, however, stop herself from moving against his leg; she could not have stopped unless he stopped her.

When he moved his leg away from between her legs, Sansa tried to form the words to beg him to return it, but quickly stopped when his leg was replaced by his hand. Stannis’ breath smelled like lemons as he found her mouth again with his and she moaned into it when he inserted the first digit inside her and began to move it around in her. The palm of his hand covered the sensitive area where his leg had once been and she continued to grind against it as wave upon delicious wave of sensations flowed through her with every movement.

Sansa didn’t realize her breathing had become so rapid until his lips left the side of her face and he rose on one elbow to observe her, eyes heavy lidded. She felt him add a finger and she felt a small, sharp pain that quickly subsided as there was an increase in what she was feeling as he began to pump his fingers back and forth. To her embarrassment, she realized that she was wet down there. It made it easier for his fingers to move inside her, but she was not at all sure that was appropriate. “Stannis,” she breathlessly panted, “Should I be . . . should I be . . . moist there?”

“Yes,” was his hoarse reply and while it could have been a trick of the light, she thought she saw him smile. She could not think on it any more as the combination of his fingers moving in and out of her and the palm of her hand rubbing against her were causing the feelings inside her to increase and she could not stop the thrashing she was doing. Sansa had an unbidden feeling of sympathy that Stannis' removal of Lord Seaworth's digits might have been far more a punishment for Marya than for his Lord Hand all those years ago.

When he withdrew his fingers, Sansa did not protest as before. She wanted what she sensed was coming next and once again, her body acted of its own accord by spreading her legs a bit wider in welcome. Stannis balanced himself on his elbows as he positioned himself above her. His forehead lowering to touch hers, he began to ease himself into her. Both pain and pleasure mingled together when he made it so that she was no longer a maid that she didn't know how to respond when he asked with a ragged breath, "Shall I continue?"

 _It will only hurt but a short time_ she remembered being told. "Please," she encouraged. He moved in and out very deliberately and the pain lessened although the gutteral noises coming from Stannis' throat were like none she had heard before and was too occupied with the increase of her own pleasure to be able to think of a proper description. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and rocked up to meet every thrust, reveling at the ever-increasing, delicious tension in her body. 

Suddenly, Sansa understood what was meant when it was said that one “peaked” while being bedded. She greeted this overwhelming crash of feeling with wide eyes and burying her head in his shoulder to muffle crying out. With only a few more thrusts, Stannis became rigid and she knew he, too, had peaked. Gently, he withdrew from her and laid back beside her. Not bothering to ask whether he desired it or not, Sansa curled herself against him and was pleased when, in a well-orchestrated effort, Stannis encircled her with a protective arm while also pulling the bedclothes over them both. 

They were silent, both trying to still their breathing and regain some composure. Before sleep overtook her, Sansa cuddled closer against her husband and laid her head on his chest. "Will you be here with me in the morning?" 

"Should you like me to be?"

Sansa put her hand over her mouth to cover a yawn, "What I should like is for you to wake me far in advance of your planning to leave on the morrow . . . " She yawned again, drifting off to sleep, "Is it unseemly to do this again so soon?" 

"My lady, I hope your question refers to the morrow," she heard him growl groggily. The fire had died down to burning embers and the room was growing darker. "If it does, I have not a care for whether it is considered unseemly. It shall be as the Queen of Westeros wishes."


	22. Chapter 22

King’s Landing  
Stannis

After twenty-six years of sitting on the hard, rusty chair made of swords, Stannis found it cold and uncomfortable at best; however, he knew better than to comment on it. Sansa would immediately fashion some ornate cushion, likely embroidered with a stag, for him to put underneath him. If she made it, he would use it. It would certainly create a great deal of sport at his expense, although no one would be brave enough to say it to his face. Fortunately, he did not have to sit in it for any length of time or even every day. His chair in his meeting room was far more comfortable.

If you had told him during that winter he and his men fought through snow and ice that he would sit the Iron Throne long enough for him to get old enough for it to hurt his hindquarter due to pain in his joints, he would not have believed you. Even now, he could not see himself as an old man with three sons, three daughters, four grandsons and two granddaughters. Rather than worry about having an heir to the Iron Throne, his concern now was having sufficient to go around for the Baratheon / Seaworth brood.

Ser Devan was now Lord Seaworth after Davos’ death last year when his true brother had died peacefully in his sleep only two moon-cycles after his lady wife had succumbed to a fever. Sansa had talked him out of naming his son-in-law as Master of Ships as Shireen would leave Cape Wrath to be with him, but it would break her heart. Shireen loved her life as the lady of Cape Wrath, and while she would do her duty, his wise wife reminded him it had been their dream to let her find her happiness away from the Crownlands. His eldest grandson, named for his paternal grandsire, was the second in command of the Fury, now the flagship of Westeros. Shireen had found it extremely difficult parting with her three eldest sons, who were all serving the realm at sea. Stannis had been tempted to lecture his daughter on the matter, yet Sansa hinted her fears were justified. She didn't have to remind him that Devan had lost five brothers to the Battle of Blackwater.

Stannis’ eldest son and heir to the Iron Throne had also been named for his paternal grandsire. Born just a bare fortnight over nine moon-cycles from the day he and Sansa were wed, Steffon Baratheon had the black hair of the Baratheons and his mother’s Tully blue eyes. He also had a charm that reminded him of Renly, but Stannis’ pragmatism and head for detail, both of which Stannis believed would serve him well. At five and twenty, he was young for being named Master of the Coin; however, he had already proved most capable. It was not good to have a son, even a devoted one, with nothing more to do than wait to take over for his father.

Their second son, Ned, or rather, Eddard, had taken on the mantle of Lord Baratheon of Storm’s End. Ned had been born a year and a half after his elder brother and had removed to Storm’s End at the age of one and twenty to train with the castellan. Ned was the second of his children to marry. Stannis had been concerned over the close kinship between him and Lady Catelyn Targaryen, since her mother was Sansa’s sister, Arya. After her return from Braavos, Lady Arya spent time in Winterfell and then, because her Queen and sister, heavy with child, all but commanded it, Arya made a visit to King’s Landing. While there, she met Aegon Targaryen. The son of Rhaegar Targaryen was there in an attempt to restore House Targaryen in Westeros, ready to bend the knee but also to seek Dragonstone. It took two years to reach terms, not least of which was ensuring his sister stayed across the sea. During that time, Aegon found himself enamored of the lady from the North who insisted on wearing breeches and could do serious harm with a tiny sword she referred to as Needle. Indeed, Aegon became less interested in obtaining Dragonstone and more interested in obtaining the regard of Arya Stark. In the end, he obtained both.

Sansa then gifted him with another daughter. Cassana, with her raven hair, resembled her Stark-born aunt rather than her mother. She was a shy, quiet girl who liked to alternate her time between the Red Keep’s library and what remained of the King’s Landing Orphanage. Stannis was proud that there were fewer orphans at this stage of his reign, due in no small measure to his managing to avoid another great war. Cassana currently had the attention of half of the young Lords of the realm and he was in no hurry to see her married. Sansa claimed Lord Garrett, son of Lord Tyrell, was their daughter’s favorite. His wife had yet to forgive the Tyrell women for making it look like she had been complicit in the death of Joffrey, but had come to admire Lord Tyrell. Stannis had not known until he first told her that he was considering naming Lord Tyrell as his Hand that the Queen of Thorns had attempted to betroth Sansa to Lord Tyrell, then Lord Willas. He had been angry to learn she had kept this from him all these years, despite her laughing and claiming that after being betrothed to a prince; wedded but not truly married to a former Hand; being the bastard daughter of the most devious man in the realm; and then becoming wife of a king . . . talk of yet another betrothal was hardly significant for conversation.

Since Sansa's sister, Lady Targaryen, had a daughter she named Catelyn before their second daughter was born, Sansa named the daughter she had hoped to give her late lady mother’s name after her sister instead. It turned out to be quite a jest because Arya Baratheon was the complete opposite of her namesake. His Arya loved her needlework and gowns, made courtesy an art, and her dancing had nothing to do with a sword. She also had her father wrapped around her smallest digit. Arya had the look of her mother, despite her dark hair, as well as her mother’s temperament. Stannis wished he could keep her young and carefree forever.

Davos Baratheon, or “Young Davos” as he was oft referred to, was their third son and last child. He had the look of Ned Stark. His birth had come dangerously close to taking his mother’s life, and Stannis had insisted she drink moon-tea until such time as there was no threat of her being with child again. All the nights of starvation at Storm’s End or the Battle of Blackwater had not filled him with fear as the night he almost lost her had. Young Davos spent a great deal of time with his oldest brother training in the yards and had expressed an interest in joining his Seaworth nephews at sea someday. Stannis saw a future Master of Ships in his youngest. His uncle, Lord Stark, had but one son who would inherit Winterfell, and no daughters. He talked of giving Dreadfort to his princely nephew, but Stannis believed Winterfell would prove too far from the sea for Davos. Time would tell.

“My Love, you do not look yourself,” his wife observed as she joined him in the meeting room just before supper. This became their habit and Stannis had instructed the King's Guard that his queen no longer needed to be announced at this time of day. “Is there something that troubles you?”

“No, My Lady. How am I not myself?”

Sansa, still so beautiful she took his breath away, rounded the table and he moved back in his chair to allow the inevitable. She sat on his lap and ran her fingers into the horseshoe-shaped ring of hair that ran around the sides and back of his head. “You are not scowling,” she informed him.

Stannis knew his popularity with the common folk as king had little to do with his having kept war from returning to Westeros, his sense of justice, or his having made education available to the common folk. His popularity hinged solely on the fact that he gave his kingdom Queen Sansa. They loved him because she loved him, and they loved her.

“I do not always scowl,” he insisted, groaning in a manner that sounded petulant to his own ears. “Just as I no longer grind my teeth.”

Smiling, she kissed his forehead. “It is true. That particular habit is reserved for only the most extreme of situations. However, your scowl is an old friend who will never leave, nor should it. What were you thinking of when I came in?”

He encircled her waist with one hand, looking absently at the charts of information regarding the realm laid out for his inspection before him. “Our children . . . our grandchildren . . . and that I miss Davos.”

Sansa laid her head on his shoulder. He remembered her telling him, _I was first drawn to the broadness of your shoulders_ on their wedding night and laying her head to rest there just as she did now. “Speaking of our children, I do believe they have other engagements for supper.”

“Davos and Arya both?” he asked.

“They are guests of Lord Tyrell in the Tower. It seems Lady Janna was brought from Hightower to visit her father by her uncle.” Sansa was speaking of the daughter of Lord and Lady Tyrell, who was of a similar age as Young Davos. “I saw Ser Loras briefly while going to observe Davos in the yards today, and barely recognized him. He has grown the size of his late lord father, and of a similar look as I remember him.”

Stannis searched his memory, “Did he not name you Queen of Love and Beauty at some time or another?”

This was greeted with a laugh. “That he did." Then in a mocking tone, "I was dazzled by his beauty.”

“Beauty is not how a man should be referenced,” he observed, silently lamenting that, light as she was, her use of his lap for a seat could bring an ache to the bones in his thighs. Stannis did not like getting old or, as he supposed he should now own, being old.

Sansa seemed to sense his discomfort and stood. “What shall we do with our time alone for supper? I would not mind making quick work of it and finding our bed early.” The look she gave him said she did not entirely mean for the purpose of more rest.

“You do realize I am seven and sixty?” he returned, the grumpiness in his voice feigning the reality that he was pleased that she still wanted him after all these years. Stannis had long come to accept her affection for him as genuine, yet never ceased to be amazed by it.

Sansa, his Queen of Love and Beauty, gave him an indulgent smile that reached her Tully blue eyes that now had tiny crease lines in their corners when she smiled or laughed. “Yes, My Love, you are the only man of seven and sixty that I know who still spends an hour a day in the training yards wielding a great sword.” She extended her hand and he allowed her to help him by pulling a little as he rose from the chair, something he would never have done as much as five years ago.

Once he was on his feet, Sansa put her arms around his neck and looked up at him, still smiling that beautiful smile that currently held a touch of mischievousness, “You still wield many things quite well.”

Stannis had lived longer than many men who had sat the Iron Throne or had fought in battle, and he did it out of sheer force of will . . . he did it because he could not stand the thought of leaving his lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and/or commented (especially those who commented) on my little journey into my Stansa fantasy! I look forward to catching up on some Stansa reading now :)


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